


The Guardian of Fear

by frostywonder



Series: H/D Smoochfest [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2014 H/D Smoochfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostywonder/pseuds/frostywonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a sad winter spirit begins turning humans cold-hearted, an ostracized Boogeyman finds that he must team up with his least favorite spirits to put a stop to it. But maybe, at the end of it all, none of them will be so lonely anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guardian of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> This submission is part of HD Smoochfest on Livejournal. The theme this year is Media Remix, which invited participants to "remix" the story from a Book, Movie, or Television Show. The author/artist will be revealed at the end of the fest.
> 
> This was created for Prompt Number: M11  
> Original Work Name: Rise of the Guardians
> 
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Notes: A swing! Is it a miss, Prompter dearest? Many thanks to the mods and beta-La for putting up with my nonsense. Words cannot convey.

 

 

 

It was dark.  
   
It was cold.  
   
And I was scared.

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
_1714_  
_England_  
   
The comforting darkness of the world, the cool black void, smoothed into a wintry landscape as Harry stepped from the shadows, gaze calmly surveying the empty forest. Snow covered the evergreen branches, most of the sky blocked from view, but the moon was especially large that night, its disconcertingly full face pressing eagerly toward the Earth. Harry wondered what had so grabbed the attention of the elder upon it. He himself saw nothing of particular interest amongst the trees, merely noting a hint of fear in the air, the origin of which had long since disappeared.  
   
Yet the Man in the Moon's focus piqued his own interest, his curiosity getting the better of him. He followed that focus, moving through the trees as a soundless, weightless shadow, leaving behind no imprints in the white, no indication he'd ever been there, and found himself at the rim of an iced pond. Here the moon's gaze was strongest, but with it was the spice of aching despair and the venom of sorrowful anger—both dark emotions that Harry found soothing to breathe, easing to the raging monsters at his command, but neither were ones Dumbledore similarly sought. Unusual, then, that the old man should be so intent on this spot, though Harry never had been able to determine his motives.  
   
Narrowed eyes again drew to the round visage above, Harry murmuring, "You're up to something," but the reflecting light was too bright to stare for long and he turned away with a wince. He spared only a quick, final glance at the hardened surface of the pond and then decided that, whatever Dumbledore's interest, it was of little consequence to him.  
   
Sucking a deep breath, he tasted the cold air for the lingering fear and, when he caught its dissipating trail, his living shadows, his  _Fearlings_ , began to rouse with hatchling chirps of hunger. A path of human footprints cut through the snow and, though it was old, the despair was still heavy there, weighted by the sentiments of more than one human. The sadness led straight to a nearby village, one that was still awake with people finishing their day's chores but slowed, quieted, by a substantial affliction.  
   
_Death_.  
   
The fear's flavour, the type of anguish that saturated the air—someone had died in the forest that day, lost to the cold.  
   
Harry grimaced, wanting to leave as the taste turned bitter on his tongue, but the Fearlings, now fully awake, dug in their talons, demanding he allow them their enjoyment; the darkness of the human soul far more satisfying to them than the comfort found in simply the absence of light. Sighing in resignation, he started his walk through the village, allowing the sadness to soak in, using the fear of death to pacify his monsters. A few adults flinched as he passed them, their sensitivities alerting them to something dreadful in the night, but their spiked fear eased when they saw nothing of danger, the eyes of nonbelievers unable to spot spirits.  
   
How strange that humans often claimed they could not believe if they could not see when, in fact, they could not see if they could not believe.  
   
The children though, their minds were far more open to the concept of beasts and evil, to the nightmare of the Boogeyman coming to get them, but few were allowed out after the sun set—Harry was hardly the only creature waiting for them in the dark. With the sun gone and the moon high, he expected no screams from innocents tonight, much to the disappointment of the Fearlings.  
   
_"Why don't you go and say hello?"_  
   
Harry's attention snapped to the moon, the unexpected voice— _Dumbledore's_ —echoing in his mind. How long had it been since the elder had spoken to him so directly? The moon looked positively  _smug_ , proudly beaming down at the forest Harry had so recently departed, yet the trees were still and quiet, no visible signs to hint at what the Man in the Moon had done. Harry's initial curiosity was quick to return but with it came a caution he'd learned to associate with Dumbledore's often vague objectives; he hesitated.  
   
The wind, however, did not share his restraint and it hurriedly picked up. Like an excited child it urged Harry to join it, pushing at him, making his robes and shadows whip at the air like black flames, and energizing his Fearlings into loud chattering, before it passed him to dive into the trees.  
   
Huffing a laugh at the wind's excitement, at his own monsters' eagerness, Harry gave in to the calls to follow and he flashed through the shadows, leaving the town and passing through the forest to reach the frozen pond in but a blink, far faster than even the wind itself. His thoughts raced with possibilities— _what_  had the Man in the Moon done?  
   
Immediately he realized that, while he'd beaten the wind, he was still not the first spirit to arrive. He swiftly retreated a safe distance, peering cautiously around ice-crusted bark to locate the other presence he felt. As the embodiment of the feeling, empowered with it as he was, he naturally had little to  _fear_  himself, but few of the world's spirits regarded the Nightmare King kindly. In his millennia of life, he'd found it was best to avoid confrontation with the other immortals. It made his burden easier in the long run.  
   
The spirit standing at the center of the pond, eyes locked on the moon's face, was not one Harry recognized, though one obvious for the current climate: a winter spirit, hair snow white, almost glowing in the moonlight, and unnaturally fair skin tinted blue from cold blood, small layers of frost branching near his eyes. He looked young, taking the appearance of a human on the cusp of adulthood, and was as beautifully handsome as all winter spirits were.  
   
Harry wondered how he had yet to meet this spirit, his fingers itching to touch and his shadows similarly stirring with interest. The Fearlings  _liked_  winter spirits, born as the beasts were of the cold, black space between the stars. Their love of the cold often filtered into Harry, encouraging him toward the frozen breed for the occasional bit of company, his treatment of them subsequently on the verge of  _generous_. In return, winter spirits were some of the friendliest to him, if not otherwise indifferent, and he'd had little negative confrontation with their kind.  
   
Yet this spirit Harry could tell was strange, different from the others, and not only in how he dressed, his attire like that of a human, a young heir to land and fortune, rather than the otherworldly wind-woven and glacier-made fabrics. Even the totem at his feet, a wooden shepherd's crook, was unusual. Harry hadn't heard of a winter spirit wielding a totem born of earth rather than air or water.  
   
At least, Harry assumed it to be the spirit's totem. The being's spiritual essence was clearly entwined with the staff's humming magic, yet he appeared unaware of it, going so far as to startle when toe and wood briefly touched. The resulting spark of frost from the crook's tip had the spirit's wide-eyed attention. He was hesitant as he retrieved the token, fingers slowly curling around it in wonder, awe etching a delighted expression as he undoubtedly felt a resonating magical attraction. It was as though he had never known his own totem.  
   
With a sharp intake, Harry abruptly understood  _why_ , watching as the boy happily began feeling out a deep connection with the staff.  
   
This was no natural sprite.  
   
This was a human turned elemental spirit.  
   
This was the grieved soul of the person who'd died that very day.  
   
_You haven't done this in a long time._  Harry thought to the moon, giving it a frown.  _After all these centuries, why now?_  
   
As always, Dumbledore only smiled in response, never one to explain.  
   
Laughter yanked Harry's gaze back to the newly created winter spirit, only to find him skating across the frozen pond, dragging his staff over the surface and creating lovely frost patterns in the ice. The spirit was mesmerized with his new-found ability, so much so that he didn't notice the rapid approach of the wind that had finally caught up. Giving a giddy gust, it burst over the solid top of the pond and wrapped around the spirit, easily lifting him off his feet, ready to become friends with him as it was with all elementals that shared its sky.  
   
The winter spirit's startled shout at the wind's enthusiasm quickly became surprised laughter—and Harry's frown deepened. He bit back his rising anger, the bark of the tree cracking under his fingers as they turned clawed. The frostling was clearly enjoying himself, apparently not caring that he had  _died_ , that he had left behind loved ones who ached over the loss of him, loved ones who would age and wither away while he remained young. Perhaps he imagined his new form and magic to be the heaven that humans so often mentioned, but  _where_  was the expected degree of sadness at leaving his family? How could someone so easily,  _heartlessly_ , detach themselves from their previous life?  
   
The Fearlings, feeding off Harry's resentment, grew threatening, their feathered darkness elongating toward the still laughing, completely unaware winter spirit. Harry quickly reined in the black tendrils, doing the same to his emotions, and leaned back into the soothing velvet of the shadows, shifting through them to a faraway  _elsewhere_  before any damage could be done. It wasn't often that resentment from his past bled into the present, but this new spirit, a soul cold in more than one way, had drawn forth that old anger. It was better to leave lest Harry do him harm.  
   
Whatever Dumbledore's objective, Harry wanted no part of it.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_1785_  
_Virginia Colony_  
   
The shadows fidgeted around Harry, his monsters warbling their disgruntlement at the overcast sky. Gray clouds hung heavy, threatening more snow for the coming evening, but even the dimmed daylight was still too bright for the Fearlings, subduing them. Harry ignored the unhappy shadow beasts, refusing to cease his leisurely stroll amongst the busy humans. Undeveloped creatures humans were, their natures repetitive, yet even after several millennia they managed to hold his attention. As such, there were times he wished to observe them without the Fearlings creating trouble wherever he went.  
   
Of course, the shadows weren't the only possible interruption he faced. A tickle of elemental magic announced the approach of another spirit and Harry sighed, leaning against the wall of a building and melding into its weak shadow to suppress his presence. He would not interfere with another spirit's purpose here, but he hoped this one would move on quick enough and leave him to his own designs.  
   
There were gasps from the humans as the wind gave a forceful push through the street, making them hug their clothes tighter about themselves at the sudden chill. Not one noticed the being that alighted atop a post, having been dropped in their midst by the gust. The hood of this spirit's thick brown cloak was pulled over his head, as if protecting him from the cold, yet he wore no shoes, trousers frayed at his shins, and gave no indication that the ice was a bother, despite the blue tint to his toes.  
   
Harry scoffed lightly. He should have known a winter sprite would show up eventually. It was only natural for them to help ease the sky's increasing load. He held still as the spirit glanced about, examining the location and determining whether it was necessary to stay or move on.  
   
_Keep going_ , Harry encouraged mentally,  _You don't want to stay. The clouds aren't too full just yet_.  
   
Apparently of a different opinion, the Fearlings curled over his shoulders inquisitively, their empty eyes locking on the winter spirit and their shadowed crests rising along with their curiosity. Harry arched a brow at their unusual show of interest and again scanned the spirit, noting nothing more than the strange choice of clothing and—  
   
Oh.  
   
The shepherd's crook was absentmindedly flipped in one hand while the spirit contemplated, a habit of sorts, and Harry's eyes narrowed on it as he recalled this peculiar being, this once-human who had died yet paid the passing no mind. He as well remembered his distaste for such an attitude and the negative feelings it provoked in him. Still, the world was large, the seasons varied. He had not seen this particular spirit since that birthing night more than half a century prior; the aversion had dulled.  
   
Now curious himself, Harry drew the old feelings to the surface and let them leak out, waiting to see if the other spirit would notice and, if so, how he would react.  
   
The winter sprite abruptly startled and looked toward where Harry stood, the cloak's hood quickly pushed back to indeed revel the pale entity of that night, searching eyes as grey as the sky. There were few powerful enough to find the Nightmare King when he did not wish them to, but still the spirit stared, trying to locate the source of the projected dislike.  
   
Harry and his Fearlings stared back, unseen by the confused gaze of the winter spirit. Eventually the spirit gave a disappointed huff and turned away, having only spotted the humans milling about, completing their day's chores. Harry licked his lips, tasting to see what the young spirit had given him, and his eyes went wide. It wasn't the sort that came with the fear of survival, but there was a tinge of desperation in the air, a strange flavour that was both familiar yet indiscernible. He hadn't expected such a taste.  
   
The Fearlings cooed in approval of it, wanting more, but the spirit was already shrugging off the feeling, having found distraction in the humans. The desperation dissipated and in its place mischievousness spiked, the spirit giving another habitual flip of his staff and grinning. In an easy movement, the butt of the totem was tapped against the post on which the spirit stood and a swift burst of ice fractals spiraled down the wood. The frost magic dove into the human's earthen road, winding between their legs and making the ground beneath them slippery.  
   
Talons dug into Harry's shoulders as the Fearlings first tensed and then whistled excitedly when one human stepped directly onto the new ice patch, promptly falling onto her backside. Harry rolled his eyes at the monsters' amusement but gave the other spirit another speculative lookover, uncertain of his intentions. Elementals didn't interact with humans so directly. Any contact between their powers and the humans was merely the result of same time, same place, sometimes to the great misfortune of the humans.  
   
However this spirit's magic continued to weave amongst the humans, playfully freezing the water pouring from a pump and earning a cry of dismay from the boy who had just pumped it, crawling up the sides of the human's buildings to freeze their hanging laundry with an impish tap, and passing through their unshuttered windows to merrily give the inhabitants within chilly hands and feet. Snowflake-like patterns were left in its sliding wake and both Harry and the Fearlings watched with fascination as the beautiful design decorated wherever it touched.  
   
Harry wondered whether this interaction with humans was due to the spirit's past life or if Dumbledore's influence was more to blame. The Man in the Moon, after all, was especially fond of humans.  
   
"Ah, now  _that_ , that was  _fun_ ," the winter spirit laughed and, unbeknownst to him, the Fearlings sung their agreement. Appearing mightily proud of himself, smirking as his magic continued to cause mild mischief, he suddenly called out, "Wind!"  
   
Snow blew like icy dust, the wind immediately responding to the summons. It lifted the winter spirit with a flourish and leaped to follow the winding frost magic, dodging between yelping humans with ease. The Fearlings extended their feathered shadows as it passed, letting the cold air breeze between their primaries. They chattered as soon as it was gone, urging Harry to pursue, and he again rolled his eyes at their behaviour but did as requested, if only to satisfy his own curiosity in addition to theirs.  
   
With the day as grey as it was, lacking drastic tones, there were few natural shadows to use for quick shifting, making travel by foot necessary and therefore slow. The frost magic, however, had left a clear path of ice through the humans' colony, minor mishaps all along its way, and it was headed toward the open fields beyond the wobbly buildings. Harry could feel the winter spirit's presence there, along with—of all things— _children_. As he caught up, he eased around the last of the buildings, now more than ever curious about the spirit's intentions, and—  
   
He blinked, taken aback.  
   
It was a snowball fight.  
   
And the winter spirit was at the centre of it, dragging his staff's crook across the snow and pouring magic into the soft ice, ready-made snowballs popping into creation. The children grabbed at them greedily, not one questioning how the icy items had seemingly sprung from nothing. For a surprised breath, Harry thought the children could  _see_  the spirit—an  _elemental_ —but then none of them so much as glanced the spirit's way, even as he danced and laughed at the edge of their group, continuously providing their ammunition and raising snowbanks for them to hide behind. If a snowball flew in his direction, it was only due to the poor aim of a child.  
   
Huffy squawks from the Fearlings brought Harry out of his shock, the beasts hugely disenchanted to find the mischief turned to happy play. They, perhaps, had believed they had an ally in the spirit for creating mayhem. Harry scowled and raised a hand to shush them, wanting to observe this spirit more, wanting to know  _why_  an elemental showed such interest in humans, but a sudden shriek of pain disrupted the playful scene.  
   
The makeshift war immediately halted as one little girl crouched in the snow, hand cupped to her cheek where a snowball had landed too hard. The other children crowded nervously nearby, and the Fearlings hummed with anticipation, but then a hand was proudly held aloft, fingers pinched on something small and yellowed white.  
   
"A tooth!" the girl exclaimed. "I lost a tooth!"  
   
The gathered children erupted in animated babble, each of them recounting their own experience with lost teeth, pillows, and received coinage. Harry groaned at the ignorant cheer, the shadows at his back ruffling disappointedly, the Fearlings' hope for tears and gloom dashed. They eyed the excited children with disdain, their hatred of the Tooth Fairy and all that had to do with him mingling with Harry's own dislike of the multi-coloured, self-centred thief of teeth.  
   
They weren't the only ones bothered by the children's fairy fixation. A sharp sting on Harry's tongue, a biting return of the desperate feeling he'd tasted before, had his gaze back on the winter spirit. The sprite stood behind the children, appearing distressed as he looked from one happy child to the next, fidgeting as if he wanted to reach out to them, and Harry could feel the fear growing thick, the pressure of a spirit's stronger than that of humans.  
   
"Oh no," the spirit breathed, then cried, "No!" as the children began to leave, the girl with the lost tooth merrily leading the rest. He chased after them, waving his hands and staff in attempt to gain their attention, calling, "Ah, wait a minute! Come on, hold on! What about all that fun we just had? That wasn't the  _Tooth Fairy_. That was  _me!_ "  
   
The appeals went unheard, the children unseeing. Frustration bled into the desperation and the Fearlings again became eager as the sky darkened and the air grew colder, nature's heavy clouds responding to the winter spirit's rough emotions. The wind, too, answered the elemental's need, returning to his side with a fierce gust. He rode it up and landed in the children's path with an angry shout—  
   
"What's a guy have to do to get a little attention around here?!"  
   
—and the first child walked through him.  
   
Harry gasped just as sharply as the winter spirit, knowing full well how unsettling it was to be reduced to nothing but a ghost of air, of the feeling of not being seen, not being  _believed_  in. The spirit hurried out of the way of the other children, expression drawn in pain. His emotions were bleeding into the air and then—  
   
In an abrupt flash, he was gone on the wind, disappearing into the grey without glancing back.  
   
"Huh," Harry murmured, blinking, the sky empty but for the heavy clouds. Even the Fearlings were startled by the sudden retreat, quieting at Harry's side as they searched for the spirit and tasted the air for his lingering emotions.  
   
Snow fell from the grey.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_1863_  
_Japan_  
   
An aged attendant spun herself in circles, one arm stiffly holding out an oil lamp and the other crossed over her chest, fingers clenched in the thick fabric of her winter kimono. She searched one side of the storehouse, then whirled to search the other side, her panic and fear growing with each jump of the shadows.  
   
Harry watched disinterestedly from atop a stack of crates, crouched and elbow propped on one knee to rest chin in hand. He indeed felt pity for this human—her old heart could give out at any moment—but the burden of fear had to be carried. Though, in truth, his involvement was barely needed here. The attendant's own mind created the horrors she expected to find. Harry had only to assist in cultivating them. Humans, indeed, were such imaginative creatures.  
   
The Fearlings were certainly enjoying themselves. Soaring like sharp arrows through the shadows, they tormented the attendant with whispered calls, thrilling in each shaky gasp, and their feeding served to make the emotions ripen further in their target. The more panic they drew from her, the more fear she fed them, the more corporeal they became until at last they could touch her, brushing against her side and twittering at her shrieks. At any moment, her fear would reach such a height that she'd even be able to—  
   
There. Her last spin had turned her in Harry's direction and her body froze as her eyes alighted upon his form, no longer seeing through him as nonbelievers did. What a sight he must have made to her, with his skin ashen with centuries of shadows, his spirit's eyes reflecting the yellow glow of her lantern, and his robes as black as any moonless night and alive with fluttering Fearlings. For a breath, she just stared, eyes wide and mouth dropped in terror, but then her grip slackened on the lantern and it fell to the dirt floor, the noise of it breaking a cue to both her and the beasts.  
   
"Ba-bakemono!" she shrilled just as the creatures launched into their shadow dancing, their feathered shadows lifted high in display and their eerie hooting filling the storehouse. With a stumbling turn, the attendant fled as fast as her elderly legs would take her, slinging the door open so that it banged as she burst through. The still burning wick caught the spilled oil of her wrecked lamp and a small flame rose to momentarily cast more shadows through which the cawing Fearlings could fly, but the fire died quickly on the dirt floor, leaving only darkness and the attendant's distant cries for help.  
   
At his core, Harry felt the flicker of a new believer but he paid it no mind. Even on this once monster-infested isle of a country an adult's belief was becoming a fickle thing, the civilization and  _science_  of humans explaining away more and more each year, their  _technology_  giving them the advantage over the otherworldly. Before long, his Fearlings would only truly scare the children—an unfortunate side effect of the humans' innovations, for Harry most hated scaring children.  
   
With a sigh, he called back his shadow beasts, snapping his fingers for them to hurry and ignoring their hisses of displeasure. In retaliation they nipped at his skin as they returned, leaving his fingertips stinging despite how quickly the injuries healed. Harry scowled, shaking the sting from his hands, and then leaped from the crates. Already he could hear the hurried approach and brave voices of gathered men, awakened by the attendant's shouts. It was best to leave before the storehouse was full of humans and their bright lanterns.  
   
He slid through the shadows in search of a less inhabited area, locating such at the far end of the village, beneath a shrine's eave. The aged wood appeared on the verge of collapsing with the weight of winter's snows upon it, and he eyed it suspiciously before determining it would hold. His Fearlings petulantly clucked for more fear to feast upon, the old woman's fright having been but an appetizer, yet Harry felt no motivation to seek out another human to terrify. Perhaps he found the task too easy, and therefore too dull, with a full moon in the sky, humans being as afraid of it as they were. After millennia of scaring, he desired a bit of a challenge.  
   
As he contemplated his next move, wondering if he could trail behind one of the few remaining native monsters and feed off the fear it caused, a cold breeze wound his way, causing small flurries of snow to rise and swirl through the air. A quiet  _thump_  sounded above him and then the soft footsteps of someone too light to leave footprints: a spirit.  
   
Harry leaned past the eave to see his companion, expecting a local snow woman. Instead of silky black hair and delicate features, he found himself peering up at the back of a foreign winter spirit, a male—  
   
_Him_.  
   
The wooden staff was twirled in the same habit as before, a clump of snow knocked from the roof by a wave of ice magic. This was the first Harry had seen of this spirit in almost a century, though he hadn't exactly been searching. The abrupt departure of their last encounter had left him curious, certainly, but not overwhelmingly so. In the time that had passed, he had concluded that the spirit's show of depression was merely the result of difficult adjustment, the snowflake perhaps not finding immortality as wonderful as it was often dreamed to be.  
   
He sometimes wondered if the spirit had eventually mourned the loss of his human family.  
   
But that was no concern of his anymore. He watched for a bit longer as the spirit paused, head tilted down in thought, before turning away, his mild interest quickly losing its place to hunger. The night was young and the Fearlings' frustration at the lack of a full meal was growing in him.  
   
Disregarding the presence of his fellow spirit, Harry searched for promising shadows, discovering such around a young guard—a boy, really—keeping watch at one of the village's corners. Even through the stretch of shade Harry could feel the lad's twitchy unease, green as he was to his task. The jumpy emotion was like a sweet treat to the Fearlings, making them twitter their wicked but pleased tunes. Nodding to himself, deciding on this human's fear, Harry began to move into the shadow.  
   
He was almost completely within in when a bolt of sadness suddenly shot through him, crackling hot at his nerves like lightening.  
   
He immediately halted, even the Fearlings abruptly quieting at the unexpected and sharp tasting emotion. His body hummed with its painful ache and, for a quick breath, he was confused as to the origin, but then realized it was coming from the very place he was leaving. This knowledge had the Fearlings' bursting from their silence with screeches, demanding that he stay, the watchman's fear no longer sought. The fiends loved to lick at fright but they  _devoured_  sorrow.  
   
Quite the opposite, Harry wanted nothing more than to continue toward the original target, much preferring a scare over grief. Centuries upon centuries of the feeling and even now he could not stand it. Still, he was a creature of curiosity, as much a proven hazard to himself as any bright light, and while it unsettled him to prey upon the misery of another, it would satisfy both his own nosiness and the Fearlings' desires. The pain was strong in spite of merely radiating into the shadows. A full meal of it would likely keep the beasts sated for at least three nights over.  
   
However, as Harry returned to beneath the shrine's eave, it was not a human's tears that wet the air, making each breath a suck of thick emotion, but rather those of a  _spirit_. The cheers the Fearlings had shouted when Harry changed directions were cut off in favour of deep gasps, the very dark around Harry appearing to breathe as one entity. There were no emotions more raw and pure than the ones of a spirit, no human sentiment that came even close to being as fulfilling.  
   
Harry dizzily grabbed the edge of the shrine to keep from stumbling over his own feet, wondering who could have arrived in the short time he'd departed. The feelings permeating the air were as intoxicating as they were substantial. He was too close to the source, unable to pinpoint the spirit's location, much less to distinguish one emotion from another. They pushed at him so strongly that his taste buds felt burned. Sadness, confusion, anger, and—  
   
_Loneliness_.  
   
His own body thrummed with memory at the last.  
   
Leaning against the shrine's wall, Harry tried to calm his nerves and separate himself from the other spirit's powerful mood. The Fearlings gave weak tweets, each saturated and drunk, and yet still they strained against Harry's hold, wanting to find the spirit, fly to it, wrap around it and breathe in the sadness, bind it, force it to its knees and hold it there until they'd pulled every last drop it had to give. Their desires echoed through their connection to Harry, he their vessel, and he tried to not respond to it, to not give in and let loose their tethers. He already knew the danger of that.  
   
Very slowly, the taste became duller, and through a hazy mind Harry understood why: the spirit had begun to speak and was therefore no longer lost to forlorn introspection.  
   
"If there's something I'm doing wrong, could you… could you just tell me what it  _is?_ "  
   
Harry froze at the voice.  
   
It was none other than that winter spirit! And still on the roof of the shrine, his location now easy to pinpoint without his emotions overflowing into the surrounding area.  
   
Realising that the spirit may have been speaking to him, however odd that was, Harry warily peered from under the eave, trying to remember if he'd unconsciously made a noise or given away his own presence. He had not, for the spirit's eyes were on the moon, his expression earnest but mostly confused and painfully sad.  
   
"Because I've tried  _everything_ ," the spirit continued, the laughter he'd had at his awakening, during the snowball fight with the children, utterly gone from his tone, "and  _no one_  ever  _sees_  me!"  
   
Harry shifted uneasily at the heartbreak in that voice, hating how close it hit to his own discontent. The Fearlings were too full to give more than a few lethargic licks, leaving Harry alone in feeling the young spirit's unhappiness.  
   
"You put me here!" the winter spirit snapped, his anger suddenly pushing forward as he glared at the moon. "The least you can do is tell me—" His voice broke off in a strange hiccup, a sort of sob, the anger leaving as quickly as it had come. Almost tearfully, he finished, "Tell me  _why_."  
   
Even Harry looked to the sky, concerned about Dumbledore's answer, but the Man in the Moon stayed silent. Only the wind responded to the spirit. It blew around him when he received no reply, his head dropping and shoulders hunching, and it wrapped him in a chilly hug, muffling the small gasps and sniffles.  
   
Harry glared his disapproval at his lunar foe and then glanced again at the troubled bit of winter. He felt an impulse to console the despondent spirit, strangers though they were. If he reached out, perhaps this could be someone to share eternity with. Perhaps he had been a little harsh in his initial assessment of the spirit. Perhaps—  
   
The impulse passed quickly, swallowed by logic. What could he, the Nightmare King, the  _Boogeyman_ , possibly say to soothe another? He lived in darkness, fed off of fear and sadness, and had already spent so much time alone that he wasn't sure he even remembered proper etiquette or social norms when interacting with those who didn't already know him.  
   
No, this despondent spirit would find comfort elsewhere, Harry reasoned, and likely in the arms of his own kind. He was feeling a bit lonely now, maybe he had indeed had difficulty adjusting to his new life, but he'd laughed at his death and cheerfully embraced his awakening—he'd be fine soon enough. No doubt he would find it an affront if Harry tried to cover his shoulders with wispy shadows as one would with a warm blanket.  
   
Yet, even knowing such as he did, even as he called forth the shadow path to his otherworldly home, disappearing into the familiar darkness as quickly as possible, Harry still had an urge to return to the winter spirit. The taste of the spirit's sadness hadn't left his senses—wouldn't for some time—and the same indiscernible flavour that had been there before made him wonder if there were more to the frosty being than met the eye. It was a growing curiosity his rationality demanded be squashed.  
   
Returned to the comfort of his own dreary lair, Harry resolved to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the peculiar, troublesome winter spirit.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_A far off place_  
   _A long time ago_  
    
The caves were carved deep into the small planet, curving to the core and tangling about one another: a hive of fear and darkness. Stardust glittered at the planet's crust, preventing the shadows from splitting it open and spilling their terror over the universe. Their prison had only the one exit—it was blocked, barred by golden rods of light that burned their dark touches, caging them, confining them, and secured by but one guard, the warrior who'd led the defeat of their ambitious raging. They crowded close and sung their bribes, cooing, calling,  _promising_ …  
   
_"Hero…_  
   
_Release us…_  
   
_Take our power and be free…_  
   
_Hero of Light…"_  
   
He never turned, kept his distance from their door, kept his back to their pleas, never giving the monsters, the  _Fearlings_ , the audience they so desired.  
   
Or so their guard tried.  
   
The years passed—how many,  _how many?_ —and he had himself for company. He had  _them_.  
   
And he had a little locket that he hid in his armour, and all his loved ones, all his memories, his reasons for fighting, were contained within its clasp.  
   
But trinkets couldn't speak and there was no one to share the burden of silence. How long could one withstand the loneliness?  
   
_How long?_  
   
_How many years?_  
   
Even the greatest General of the Golden Armies began to crack.  
   
He needed a companion.  
   
_"Hero…"_  
   
It started with quick glances. He had a curious nature, their guard. The light of the stardust, the glow of the prison bars, could not penetrate their darkness, and it  _fascinated_  him. The shadows were as solid as any wall and yet were nothing more than wisps of blackened air. They appeared still, frozen, but also writhed in all directions. An enigma.  
   
_" All you need is to close your eyes…_  
   
_And we will take care of you…_  
   
_Protect you…"_  
   
Somehow he was stood just outside their cage, peering in, awed, reaching for the lock…  
   
_"Hero of Light…"_  
   
Their guard jerked his hand back, catching himself just in time. They trilled in anger but the sharp noises were lost on the guard. His horror was with his own hand.  
   
_What had he almost done?_  
   
And all to sate curiosity.  
   
The fear began to creep in, an unknown thing to a Warrior of Light.  _He_  didn't feel fear.  _He_  was the bravest of his armies—a general! He had  _volunteered_  to keep watch over the Fearlings, to guard them for the eternity of the stars. He was—  
   
Alone.  
   
So alone,  _so alone_.  
   
_How many years?_  
   
_How long?_  
   
_"Harry."_  
   
Their guard's attention was easily gained. They could see the question in his eyes: how did they know his name? And they watched excitedly as he understood, maliciously sucking at his dismay.  
   
The fear—the  _fear_ —gave them power.  
   
He knew this, he knew it,  _knew_  it, and yet he'd  _let himself be afraid_.  
   
He'd let them  _in_.  
   
_"Harry."_  
   
He flinched, wanting to cover his ears to keep out their terrible warbles, but they weren't speaking. They were in his head and they all spoke at once, an echo of sharp tones. It hurt.  
   
He'd let them in and  _it hurt_.  
   
But then—  
   
_"Harry!"_  
   
—it wasn't  _their_  voice anymore.  
   
No—it was impossible, the guard tried to reason. She wouldn't be there. She  _couldn't_  be there. No one could enter the Fearlings' prison.  
   
_"Harry!_  
   
_Please, my child!_  
   
_My son!_  
   
_Save me!"_  
   
But how could the Fearlings know the voice of a woman they'd never heard?  
   
The guard stepped closer.  
   
_”I'm trapped!_  
   
_Oh, it's so dark!_  
   
_Help me, please!_  
   
_Harry!_  
   
_Harry!"_  
   
He was alone,  _so alone_ —but not alone because  _she_  was there,  _she_  had come to his side as she always had, as she said she always would, and now—  
   
She needed him to save her.  
   
It was her voice that called, not theirs—  
   
_"Save me!"_  
   
The prison trapped her, not them—  
   
_"Harry, please!"_  
   
His hand was upon the lock—  
   
_"I'm so scared!"_  
   
And he didn't know that they'd seen the inside of the locket, that they'd seen it through him, through his  _fear_.  
   
He didn't  _know_ , but they did.  
   
He'd let them in—  
   
_"Don't leave me in here!"_  
   
Now he'd let them out.  
   
_"Harry!"_  
   
The lock fell, the bars dimmed and crumbled.  
   
And all he saw was darkness.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_2014_

_In the Shadows of the Earth_

   
Harry awoke with a start, his mother's screams fading along with the dream, the  _memory_ , of how the shadows had swallowed his very being. It was so long ago— _millennia_ —but he could still see the darkening of the stardust as the shadows poured from their cage.  
   
He could still feel in his heart where they had ripped their new home.  
   
The Fearlings chittered in the nearby shadows, mocking him for the nightmare, and he furiously pushed a hand at them, using his power as their vessel to force them further into the nothingness that was his home. They screeched, displeased, but he ignored them. What vicious little beasts they were, disrupting his slumber.  
   
As a shade, he did not require rest the way humans did, but every so often his eyes would close and the monsters greedily took the opportunity to haunt him with his past. Many spirits assumed that the Nightmare King only gave nightmares to others; truthfully, being as close to the source of evil as he was, he experienced plenty of his own, and he had a deep well of horrors to draw from, his initial possession but the beginning of a reign of terror.  
   
But that was long over. He wasn't a mindless vessel anymore. It had cost countless lives to bring him back to himself, to yank him from the pit of darkness and remind him of whom he was, what he was meant to do. He had been the guard to their prison and now he  _was_  their prison. There was no escape from the Fearlings, he'd become a part of them, they a part of him, but  _Harry_  still existed and  _Harry_  could prevent them from sinking the universe in sorrow.  
   
He rubbed at his chest absentmindedly, a weakness at his core that had nothing to do with the nightmare. The strange tug, the  _fading_ , felt as though he was losing believers at an alarming rate, but that was unlikely. For such a thing to affect him, several hundred humans would have to simultaneously stop believing. While he had begun the newest millennia with his fewest amount of believers yet, there continued to be plenty who feared the Boogeyman and kept him thriving as more than just a bad dream.  
   
There was fear in the world—there would  _always_  be fear, even if it no longer pertained specifically to a fear of the dark.  
   
Still, something was not quite right and it had drained him enough to draw him into sleep. If there was anything, more specifically  _anyone_ , to blame for his sudden fading, then Harry knew exactly where to start pointing fingers.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_The North Pole_  
   
The tundra was disappointingly calm, thick snow layered deep and untouched, glittering in the sunlight, clear skies forcing Harry to the shade cast by blue and white mountains. His last visit to this area had been much more pleasant, greeted by a fierce blizzard during the pole's months of night. The Fearlings had greatly enjoyed playing in the snowstorm. Now they could only huff hisses at the warm light and crowd close behind Harry, pecking their discontent at his choice of destination.  
   
He sent them a warning glare before returning his gaze to a distant mountain in particular. It rose high amongst its brethren, its praying peak seeming to touch the heavens, truly a sight to behold, but he wasn't interested in its glorious beauty. Rather, his concern lay with the workshop built sturdily into its side, faint sounds of clanking and pounding echoing across the frozen landscape to where he stood. He was not welcome there but he had questions that he suspected the toy-making inhabitants could answer.  
   
A chirp from the shadows alerted him and he held out a hand for the scouting Fearling. It perched on his finger and tweeted its message, relaying what it had seen from the workshop's dimmed corners, its empty sockets staring inquisitively at Harry as he considered the information.  
   
"All present," he murmured darkly, eyes narrowing. His suspicions deepened that  _they_ , the group of four currently meeting within the workshop, were up to something. They were each busy with their respective jobs, so for what purpose did they gather? He doubted it was a mere reunion of friends for sharing laughter and old war stories over cookies.  
   
He glanced at the little monster still waiting on his hand and, with a small grin, asked, "Shall we go and say hello?"  
   
The Fearlings erupted in a cacophony of excited caws, their stinging bitterness sharper than Harry's own moderate resentment, making them much more eager for an encounter. After all, it had been the four spirits—Dumbledore's  _Guardians_ —who'd forced the Fearlings to submission and pulled Harry out of their deepest shadows, returning his control as their vessel. It was a grudge the beasts would hold until the end of time.  
   
"As long as you remember that there're four of them," Harry warned the chattering monsters, adding, "You're no threat when they're together. Do as I direct and nothing more."  
   
There were squawks of defiance from a few but the cue for quiet received an instant response, all hooting and hissing abruptly cutting off, leaving only the sounds of the faraway workshop to be heard on the tundra. Shadows, after all, weren't supposed to make noise.  
   
Carefully, Harry connected to the shadows within the workshop and slipped through, the great distance but a step. He was immediately assaulted with not only exceptional noise, the banging much louder at the source, but also strong odours of wood, metal, sweat and, oddly, peppermint. The air tasted of hard work and  _joy_ , the kind that came from benevolence rather than malice, and the Fearlings recoiled from the loathed emotion, their strong disgust having the unfortunate consequence of making Harry's stomach turn.  
   
He stayed in the darkened corner for a disorienting minute, reducing his presence to nonexistent while he gained his footing, not wanting to prematurely announce himself to the workshop's occupants. Panicked elves underfoot and hammer-waving yeti chasing him, shouting their jumbled language for the whole place to hear, was not how Harry wanted to greet the great  _Santa Claus_   _and friends_. Best option would be speaking to the four spirits privately, without the ruckus.  
   
Of course, he had to find them first.  
   
_Where?_  he mentally asked, eyeing the maze of work benches and toys, and the Fearling that had scouted extricated itself from the writhing darkness to settle on his shoulder, sharing its memory with a quiet cheep.  
   
Nodding, Harry brushed it back into the rest and then took another step through the shadows. This time he appeared in the shade of an enormous globe, its bulky mass towering over him as it leisurely spun on its axis. Millions of tiny lights covered the various continents, some flickering, dimming, or disappearing completely while others either slowly lit or suddenly burst forth, bright and strong.  
   
_All of their believers_ , Harry thought with a sardonic smile, but he had little time to consider the globe as he was again met with overly loud noises. However, rather than sounds of creation, it was three voices shouting at once.  
   
"He is many things, but he is  _not_  a Guardian!"  
   
"It is not our choice to make! Out of our hands!"  
   
" _Pittsburg, boy eight, two molars. Saltwater taffy—what a way to ruin a smile!_ "  
   
"But  _him?_  Have you forgotten what he did? Agh, I don't have time for this! If I did this to you three days before Christmas—"  
   
"Please. Easter is not Christmas. No matter how you paint it, is only  _egg_ , Dursley."  
   
"Gentlemen, gentlemen— _Chicago, sector 6, 37 molars, 22 bicuspids, 18 central incisors_ —shouting will get us nowhere— _Moscow, sector 9—_ "  
   
"Krum, I'm dealing with perishables here! You've got  _all year_  to prepare!"  
   
"Why are rabbits always so nervous."  
   
" _Ontario, sector 5, 3 canines, 2 molars, and 14 incisors—goodness, is that all in one house?_ "  
   
"Lockhart! Do that somewhere else!"  
   
"Indeed! Can't you see we're trying to argue?"  
   
"Sorry boys, not all of us work one night a year—am I right, Luna?"  
   
Harry quietly glided through the shadows under the globe to peek at the squabbling trio, trying to make sense of their argument. Their fourth member sat nearby, calmly sipping her eggnog, utterly undisturbed, as though her companions  _weren't_  yelling and stomping all around her. She wasn't the sort to take part in petty fights. Often Harry had wondered if that passive demeanor was simply her nature or a side effect of the rolling waves of dream-sand that she summoned to her fingertips, keeping her in a state of half-consciousness. More than once he had stumbled across her in the night and found her, the  _Sandman_ , peacefully asleep, prey to her own spells.  
   
The Fearlings nipped at Harry questioningly, wanting to know what he meant them to do, eager as they were to disturb the despised assembly, feeling charged by the shouting voices yet unsatisfied by the lack of emotion in the air. Unlike minor spirits, these four knew how to contain their feelings and their presence, just as Harry did. It frustrated the Fearlings, who so desperately wanted their revenge.  
   
Instead of immediately giving in to the shadowed pleas, Harry observed for a breath longer, weighing his curiosity against the possibility of violent retaliation. Then, with a sigh, he decided he may as well reveal himself and get some answers. The Fearlings cooed approvingly.  
   
The three spirits quarreling in front of the globe didn't notice the growing shadows until the darkness began to swirl around the giant sphere, covering the sparkling specs of light like the body of a wispy black snake and winding to where Harry emerged at the top, the Fearlings an amorphous cloud around him.  
   
"I have to say, this is pretty exciting. The Big Four, all in one place. I'm star-struck," he called, allowing his voice to echo ominously off his shadows. The corner of his mouth twitched at the startled looks and subsequent glares he received, having gained the full attention of all four Guardians.  
   
Only the Dreamweaver, Luna, smiled upon seeing him, her eggnog forgotten. Golden stardust danced in greeting above her head, flashing through different pictures—her method of communication since she didn't speak. So as to not wake anyone, she'd once explained to Harry. Even after knowing her for millennia, he still only rarely understood picture-language.  
   
He didn't even get a chance to figure out whatever greeting she was expressing this time. The large body of an oversized lagomorph stepped in front of her, big front teeth bared and ear stalks flattened—not at all the adorable and fluffy  _Easter Bunny_  the children of the world imagined.  
   
"Potter!" Dudley spat, thumping the ground. One hand flew to the boxing gloves hanging around his neck, ready to pull them on for a fight.  
   
Before he could attack, there was a flutter as a bird-like fairy flew to be level with Harry's position on the globe, surprised expression having been swapped for a beaming smile. With this spirit came several miniature versions of himself, each the size of mice and wearing little tooth-shaped tunics. The spirit propped his hands on his hips and gave Harry a knowing look, his minis all mimicking the action. "Star-struck, you say? Well,  _naturally!_  Why, you've come for an autograph, haven't you, little Prince of Darkness?"  
   
Harry made no move to stop the Fearlings as they rose to loom over the  _Tooth Fairy_  in annoyance, their feathered shadows solidifying and sharpening menacingly. Lockhart and his mini-fairies squeaked and shot back to the ground, quivering behind Dudley for protection.  
   
"Now, now!" he called, confident expression unwavering despite his hiding. "Nice,  _big_  smile, Harry! Let's not be fussy!"  
   
"I thought it was Nightmare King," Dudley asked, his confusion momentarily distracting him from glaring at Harry.  
   
"Is that what that was about? Oh my!" Lockhart laughed, his fairies tittering. He waggled a finger at Harry. "That just won't do! Just remember, Harry: fame is fickle. Celebrity is as celebrity does!"  
   
A loud slam silenced the discussion, the group's attention drawn to the owner of the very workshop in which they all stood, his stern glower locked on Harry, not a bit of jolly twinkle to be found in it.  
   
"Get those dirty vermin off my globe," Krum commanded in a low snarl, steadily ignoring the Fearlings when they screeched, threatening retaliation for the insult.  
   
Harry met the  _Santa Claus's_  gaze just as evenly and held it. "What? Don't like my show? Got your attention, didn't I?"  
   
Krum crossed his arms over his chest, raising his chin and clenching his jaw. The action looked composed and authoritative, but Harry knew it was to show the sharp sabers that hung at Krum's waist—sabers that were crusted with the same stardust that made up Luna's dream-sand and could cause Harry and the Fearlings a great deal of pain if necessary.    
   
With a light scoff, Harry gathered the Fearlings and disappeared from the top of the globe, reappearing from the shadows beside Luna. She smiled kindly at him, unbothered by the darkness that hissed at her glow. Harry winced, having to squint against the painful illumination and squash the urge to snuff out the light. As it was, a part of his shadow brushed against her dream-sand, causing the gold to blacken with fear, but Luna merely smiled and withdrew the sand so that it didn't fly so close to Harry. Within seconds, the sand returned to gold—as long as the Sandman had believers, dreams could overcome the fear.  
   
"So you decided to join us, Harry," Lockhart said cheerfully then. "What a nice surprise!"  
   
Harry turned away from Luna, disconcerted by the momentary poisoning of her stardust. He certainly liked Luna more than the other Guardians, was on friendly terms with her even, but that didn't make her any less his instinctive adversary; he had no desire to cause her any harm, however minor.  
   
"What do you mean?" he asked Lockhart. "You were expecting me?"  
   
"No, but we should've been," Dudley snapped petulantly, finally easing his stance now that the Fearlings were contained to a dark hum. "Should've known you'd crawl in here eventually, what with what the Man in the Moon's gone and done and all."  
   
"Oh?" Harry said, feigning disinterest though his curiosity piqued. "What has Dumbledore done now?"  
   
"Why Harry! Manny has spoken!" Lockhart said excitedly, wings beating rapidly in the air behind him as he hovered close. He threw an arm out and tugged Harry into his side. "You're to be our  _new_  Guardian! Though keep in mind it's not all teeth-signings and publicity photos, Harry-boy. You want fame, you have to be prepared for the  _long_ ,  _hard_ —"  
   
"Wait,  _what?_ " Harry interrupted, shoving off Lockhart, partly to keep the Fearlings from biting the man but mostly out of surprise. Then he shot Lockhart a withering look. "Stop calling me 'boy.' I'm older than you."  
   
"Maybe in age but not in appearance!" Lockhart laughed, his teeth big and white. He then winked conspiratorially at Harry, two of his mini-Lockhart fairies finding the sight so charming that they fainted. "And appearance is what really matters, Harry-boy!"  
   
"Man in Moon pick you as new Guardian," Krum gruffly explained before Harry could unleash his monsters on the vexing fairy. He pointed to an open slat in the roof through which the moon could be seen, half-faded in the blue sky. "Just now, you have been chosen."  
   
The Fearlings squawked in anger but Harry just stared, bemused, then shook his head, holding up a hand. "Wow, that's, uh, that's flattering and all, but I'm no Guardian."  
   
"Yeah! That's exactly what I said!" Dudley exclaimed.  
   
"Harry, Harry, Harry," Lockhart chided, moving to put his arm over Harry's shoulders again, only to have the Fearlings trill and jab at the offending appendage. He quickly jerked back, his minis all squeaking at the rudeness, but his own feathers were unruffled, twinkling smile never leaving his face. "My, my. Touchy! Well, that's nothing new, is it?"  
   
"The children are in danger," Krum stated shortly.  
   
Harry shrugged indifferently. "That's not my concern.  _Children_  aren't technically my concern."  
   
"Man in Moon has spoken!" Krum growled, striding forward to grab Harry's arm, only to have it turn to shadows in his hand and slip through his fingers.  
   
"Dumbledore didn't create  _me_. I was already here," Harry answered, voice echoing in the smoky black air before he materialized again. He gave Krum an annoyed glance. "So he's not  _my_  master to obey."  
   
"Ooh,  _kinky_ ," Lockhart said, but was ignored.  
   
"You know what I think?" Dudley said with a snort, stalking forward so that his large, furry body towered over Harry's shorter, wispier one. "I think we just dodged a bullet. I mean, what'd the  _Boogeyman_  know about protecting children anyway?"  
   
"Because bribing them with colourful eggs keeps them  _so_  safe," Harry scoffed.  
   
Dudley scowled. "I bring them happiness and  _hope_. I make their days brighter, put a little colour in their lives. You? You just  _scare_  them."  
   
"Exactly," Harry said flatly, trying to keep his voice steady despite feeling a sharp stab of regret at the rabbit's words. He squared his shoulders and stared up at Dudley unblinkingly. "So why would Dumbledore want me?"  
   
"Good question!" Dudley threw his arms up in frustration and turned away, his movement the awkward gait of a four-legged animal on its hind legs.  
   
Lockhart fluttered forward to take his place. "If you didn't know about your new position as a Guardian, then why are you here?"  
   
"Just looking for a bit of fun," Harry lied, millennia having taught him not to reveal his hand too early. He shrugged at the askance looks his received. "I heard the four of you were having a reunion and thought I'd drop by. For old time's sake."  
   
"You know, you don't seem very grateful," Dudley said sourly. "Coming in here and making jokes, scaring us just because. But if it weren't for us, you'd still be—"  
   
"I'm  _grateful_ ," Harry snapped, infuriated, because how  _dare_  Dudley re-open that old wound, "but don't act like pulling me out of the shadows did  _me_  any good. You stopped me from hurting others, and I do appreciate that, but that doesn't change what I  _am_ , or how other spirits treat me. You can't even begin to understand what these last millennia have been like, so  _don't_  pretend like you've done me any great favours."  
   
"What're you trying to say?" Dudley scoffed. "That you're  _owed_  something?"  
   
"Only that a little understanding would be nice."  
   
"Understanding?  _Understanding?_  You're the one who let  _them_  out! It's  _your_  fault you're the King of Shadows! Or whatever. It's your fault that you're stuck in the shadows, that you scare everyone you see."  
   
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm tired of the shadows. Maybe I'm tired of hiding under beds and stairs."  
   
"Maybe that's where you  _belong!_ "  
   
The Fearlings mantled, their shadowed wings beating ferociously, feeding off of Harry's fury and readying their attack, but he quickly held up a hand to halt them. A glance at Krum showed the not-so-jolly spirit to have drawn his sabers, his steely gaze meeting Harry's own to confirm he was prepared to defend his home and guests should the need arise. Dudley as well had been quick to pull on the boxing gloves. Harry might have toyed with the idea of challenging them both, but not with Luna present. She wore a look of empathy for him now, but he had no doubt she would use her light and warmth against him if he attacked her fellow Guardians.  
   
Lockhart, of course, had flown into the rafters to hide, his position as a Guardian more an indirect threat to Harry than an immediate one.  
   
Taking a deep breath, Harry forced calm through his connection with the Fearlings, briefly closing his eyes as he eased them back to their shapeless cloud. When he opened his eyes again, it was to send Dudley naught but a sharp glare as he muttered, "Go suck an egg, rabbit."  
   
The gloves fists held steady for a breath and then lowered, Dudley still suspiciously eyeing the moving darkness but acknowledging the unspoken ceasefire. Krum was more reluctant to put away his sabers but a firm yet kind look from Luna had him huffing and tucking the blades into his belt. A look passed between them that Harry couldn't read and, after a moment, Krum nodded.  
   
"Dursley," he called, turning on his toe to leave, his large, red overcoat fanning out as he twisted. "Walk with me."  
   
Dudley looked to Luna first and then turned to follow after sending Harry one last warning glare. Harry rolled his eyes and waited for the door to close behind them before sighing at the prospect of being left with Luna and Lockhart.  
   
Luna, on her part, didn't look particularly upset to be stuck babysitting her greatest enemy. She merely smiled peacefully, golden shapes shifting above her head slowly so that Harry could understand her meaning—she was happy to see him.  
   
Harry scoffed. "Yeah. I'm here and picking fights." He wandered past her to the glittering globe, putting some distance between her glow and his shadows. "Guess nothing's changed."  
   
"Let's not make an issue out of it," Lockhart said, fluttering to join him, thankfully keeping a safe distance. For once, the Tooth Fairy actually appeared solemn. "You know something is wrong. You have felt it, as have we."  
   
Harry gently touched the globe, his fingers slowly sliding over the blue water as it turned. He watched as black air jumped from his hand and spread over the blue. "Felt what?"  
   
"We are losing believers."  
   
" _You_  are?" Harry said, startled, facing him, and then turning to look at Luna as well. It seemed unlikely—the Guardians, the  _Big Four_ , legends engraved in humanity's history—but she nodded her confirmation and he knew she had no cause to lie.  
   
"And you as well, yes?" Lockhart asked.  
   
"Yeah." He recalled the fading feeling at his core. "Yeah, I am." Then, realizing something, "Is that why Dumbledore wants me to be a Guardian? To go on some ridiculous quest to scrounge up some believers? With the lot of you no less."  
   
The soberness left Lockhart in favor of a confident laugh. "Why, Harry, you should feel honoured!"  
   
"Sure. What, are we going to paint eggs and make toys on more days now?" Harry shook his head. "No. Forget it. If the humans don't believe anymore, then maybe our time has— Maybe it's  _finally_  reached its end."  
   
Lockhart's smile dimmed. "Let's not think like that. And besides, if it were a natural lack of belief, that terrible notion could potentially be correct, but the humans have not stopped believing of their own accord. They are being…  _forced_  to forget us."  
   
Harry glanced at the fairy in surprise. "What do you mean?"  
   
Lockhart hesitated, appearing thoughtful, and then said, "Have you heard of a winter spirit named Draco?"  
   
Harry stilled.  
   
_"Ah, now that, that was fun."_  
   
_"What's a guy have to do to get a little attention around here?!"_  
   
_The feelings permeating the air were as intoxicating as they were substantial. They pushed at him so strongly that his taste buds felt burned. Sadness, confusion, anger, and—_  
   
_Loneliness._  
   
_"Because I've tried everything and_ no one _ever_ sees _me!"_  
   
 "Uh-huh," Harry muttered, then cleared his throat. "Yeah. I've heard the name mentioned. Why?"  
   
"Well, for one, I've heard that his teeth sparkle like freshly fallen snow," Lockhart sighed dreamily, staring skyward at nothing in particular. "What I wouldn't give to be in that mouth of his."  
   
"Er," Harry said, "I see. Is that all?"  
   
"Well, no, but—I don't imagine  _you've_  ever seen him before have you?"  
   
Harry distracted himself with the globe, answering casually, "Here and there, I guess."  
   
Lockhart looked thrilled, leaning forward excitedly. "And? And? His teeth? Did they sparkle?"  
   
_Yes_. "I didn't notice."  
   
Sand shifted behind them and they both turned to see Luna looking exasperated at their digression, and Lockhart startled.  
   
"Right, right, right," he said, putting on a stern face that he'd clearly copied from Krum. " _Draco_  is the one taking our believers."  
   
"Wait, what? An elemental? And  _that_  one?" Harry asked incredulously. The winter spirit had indeed wanted to interact with humans, but Harry hadn't seen the change in the humans' cultures that would indicate a new fable had grown in popularity. Harry hadn't even heard the spirit's name mentioned amongst humans. If he wasn't stealing belief, then he couldn't be lessening the belief in others.  
   
"Not  _taking_ , necessarily," Lockhart sighed, shaking his head sadly. "He is, in a way, freezing their hearts, turning them cold."  
   
Harry frowned in doubt. He had never seen anything to indicate that a winter spirit could successfully alter human emotion. "How?"  
   
"We’re not sure how he's doing it," Lockhart said, nose scrunching like he didn't want to admit a fault, but then his gaze hardened, all of his blithe happiness disappearing at last. "However, he must be stopped. The world he is creating—" He winced. "The  _children_ , Harry. They don't hope, they don't dream, they don't wonder—"  
   
"They don't  _fear_ ," Harry finished quietly. A glance at Luna showed her nodding solemnly, her usual cheer gone as well.  
   
"You are as much a Guardian as the rest of us," Lockhart said. "The world  _needs_  fear."  
   
Harry let the words sink in for a breath, and he wanted to believe them, to believe that there was something positive in his role after long centuries past, but then the Fearlings ruffled as Luna stepped closer, the light of her too uncomfortable for their darkness. He turned away, rubbing a hand over his face, turning back after a deep sigh and a small shake of the head.  
   
"No, you're wrong," he said and, as Lockhart's mouth opened in protest, he continued before the fairy could misunderstand, "I'm no Guardian, but I  _do_  serve a purpose here and that purpose is being…" he waved a vague hand, " _threatened_. I'm not about to join Dumbledore's Army with the rest of you," a scoff, "That's not for me."  
   
"Harry…"  
   
Calling a Fearling to his hand, Harry watched it flutter and preen, giving him something to look at other than Luna's disappointment and Lockhart's pouting. "Have you asked the other elementals what they think is happening, how he's doing it?"  
   
Lockhart bit his lip in hesitation. "We've… made an effort, but those spirits are under Mother Nature's command, not the Man in the Moon's. They have been…  _disinclined_  to speak with us." He turned pleading eyes on Harry. "But you they like,  _especially_  the winter spirits. Perhaps, if it were you, they could be persuaded to help. You are the Mother's son—"  
   
"Not for a long time," Harry said harshly, closing his fist around the Fearling in his palm, making it puff into shapeless shadow, but his anger was brief. He knew Lockhart hadn't meant any harm, just stating what once was fact, and he uncurled his fingers with a sigh, the Fearling reforming with a quiet warble, ruffled and grumbling at him. He rubbed his thumb gently over its head in apology and it leaned into the touch, cooing. The other Fearlings stirred enviously, each wanting individual attention as well.  
   
"I'll see what I can do," he continued after a moment, tossing the little beast to join the others. He summoned a path through darkness, unnatural shadows growing and rising around him in response to his magic. "If the winter spirits have anything to share, I'll let you know, but no promises."  
   
As he disappeared into the black, he heard Luna sand shuffle in what he knew was a, " _Thank you_."

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_France_  
   
A child danced through the gently falling snow, feet bare and knees blued, tiny hands holding up the robe she wore for easier movement, the fabric made of soft ice and wind. Her hair, liquid white, framed her youthfully round face and dangled in her pale eyes, sliding over her shoulders as smoothly as water, clean and pretty. A few more ballet steps and then the robe was dropped, hands lifting to gather the drifting snow into a swirl, her giggles like little bells ringing in the air.  
   
Harry molded the nearby shadows into shapes of snowflakes to amuse the young winter spirit before he turned back to her beautiful older sister, who shared similar traits but was refined by maturity. "I was hoping to catch you two. I thought you'd already be heading north." He paused thoughtfully. "Or south. Is Gabrielle old enough?"  
   
"Not yet. She steel 'as much to learn," Fleur said with a sniff, casually flicking her wrist at a fence and hanging icicles there. "Fewer of us are needed for ze southearn winter, and Gaby ees too young to travel such distance, as we both know."  
   
Gabrielle dropped the flurries she held with a huff, cheeks bluing in embarrassment, and she chattered angrily at Fleur in the language of winter. It sounded pretty but sharp, like the singing shatters of delicate glass.  
   
"Nonsense," Fleur said dismissively. She rested a hand on Harry's shoulder, the cold seeping through his shadows and giving him a quick but not uncomfortable chill. "If eet were not for 'Arry, you'd 'ave melted in zat desert!"  
   
_Desert_  wasn't quite the word to use, but Harry supposed the badlands felt like one to a winter spirit. It had been an exceptionally hot summer night that the young and adventurous Gabrielle had misread the wind's course and landed not far from where he'd been enjoying the calm of the rocky land.  
   
The worried breeze had brought him the sound of sniffles and the taste of fear, hoping to gain his attention. At the time, his Fearlings had chosen to ignore it. They were sluggish and grumpy in heat, always spreading themselves amongst the natural shadows as if to avoid rubbing and sweating. They never wanted to work when it was hot, but he'd traced the fear anyway that night, wondering who had wandered so far amongst the deserted cliffs.  
   
And there had been little Gabrielle, tears flowing freely, the liquid not freezing on her cheeks as it normally would have. The fall from the sky had left her battered, purple bruises patchy beneath yellow and red sand that had glued to her skin when she'd rolled across the ground. Her hair, too, was matted with dirt and sweat, and each breath had been a trembling gasp for air, heat sickness already upon her. She had sat huddled, shaking, in the niche between two rocks—the coolest spot she could find. Too young to conjure frost magic herself, too unskilled to do more than shape what Mother Nature already provided, she was unable to climb back above the clouds to where it was cold and ride the wind to safety.  
   
Harry had felt pity for the young spirit and, though his Fearlings did not share his empathy for another being, they had complained little when he helped her return to her frantic sibling still in the sky, for even as feverish as she'd been she had felt like an ice cube amongst their hot shadows.   
   
And so it was that Harry gained two more allies amongst the frozen kind.  
   
Another blue blush dimmed Gabrielle's face at Fleur's admonishment, at the reminder of her failed escapade, but she peeked under pale lashes to stare sweetly at Harry, wanting him to know she was eternally grateful. He smiled at her, the kindness making her beam, and she happily returned to her play after sending her elder sister a victorious smirk.  
   
Fleur  _tsk-_ ed, first at Gabrielle's insolence and then at the Fearlings that affectionately nuzzled and nipped her hand, each beast shivering delightedly in response to her diffusing cold. She removed the appendage quickly from Harry's shoulder, sending the wave of darkness behind him a haughty glare, but her eyelashes fluttered and her smile was flirtatious when she looked to Harry again.  
   
"What does ze Nightmare King need of us?" she asked.  
   
"Ah, yeah," he started, distractedly creating more shapes out of shadows for Gabrielle to practice icing. "You, uh, remember when I asked for a spirit's name? The one with the earthen totem?" He licked his lips, eyes darting to Fleur when he tasted her discomfort. "Draco?"  
   
Her expression became guarded. "I remember. What of eet?"  
   
"Well, er, is there anything else you can tell me about him?"  
   
Another  _tsk_  and Fleur snapped something in winter. Then, realizing that Harry hadn't understood, she said, "Zat spirit, what would  _I_  know of  _'im?_ "  
   
Ah. Apparently Draco's recent antics were not appreciated by the other winter spirits. All the same, Fleur didn't appear like she wanted to be forthcoming with information, her eyes narrowing suspiciously on Harry; he sighed. "Listen, I know you lot don't like to give up one of your own—"  
   
Fleur shrieked and the temperature around them dropped sharply, the icicled fence freezing over entirely. The soft snow at their feet rapidly became hard and then started to crack and break, the shards rising to form icy wings at Fleur's back. Her eyes changed from blue to stormy, condensed frozen air leaping in her palm like blue fire.  
   
The Fearlings whistled and whooped, excited, and breathed in the cold mixed with anger in large, satisfied gasps. As the shadows bowed gleefully toward the growing chill, Harry calmly stepped back into their shade. This was hardly the first time he had seen a winter spirit's fury and he knew to let his beasts take the brunt of the frost, though what had enraged Fleur did confuse him. Her ranting now sounded less like the verse of a song and more like the thundering of a glacier snapping in two.  
   
"'Arry, 'Arry."  
   
It was more the tug on his shadows than the quiet chime of Gabrielle's voice under all the noise that got Harry's attention. When he looked down, the little spirit was frowning at him.  
   
"Zats not us," she tried to explain. Harry blinked, and then shook his head to show he didn't understand. She huffed, nose scrunching in childish frustration, and then glared at her sister, her cheeping quick and demanding.  
   
Fleur  _tsk_ -ed again but the air abruptly calmed, finally ceasing its descent. Harry's breath showed thick in the cold, the darkness around him appearing to smoke as all the Fearlings made play at breaking through the ground to warm themselves in the earth and then rising to blow the heat into the air.  
   
"Forgive me, 'Arry," Fleur sniffed, tossing her white hair and allowing the icy wings to crumble and fall back to the ground. "Eet ees a topic zat bozzars me."  
   
"Yeah, I can see that…" Harry eyed her warily, half-expecting her to throw the frost that still curled over her fingers, but he waved a casual hand to show that he wasn't bothered. "It's my fault anyway. I didn't mean to be nosy."  
   
"No, no, not  _you_ , ees  _'im_ ," she said, pouting. Noticing Harry's glance at the condensed air, she released it, lifting her palms to the sky for it to escape in a burst of snowflakes. With a delicate sigh, she continued, "Zat spirit, zat  _Draco_ , 'e ees not one of us but 'e insults our kind wiz 'ees be'aviour."  
   
"Wait, he's not one of you? What does that mean?" Harry asked. "He  _is_  a winter spirit, right?"  
   
Fleur's temper again flared, but Gabrielle squeaked and again tugged on Harry's shadows. Using her finger, she drew a picture of a shepherd's crook in the snow, pointing at it and chirping some more.  
   
"Yes, yes," Fleur nodded. "'e ees not a  _natural_  winter spirit. 'e even uses a totem of ze earth! We do not speak to 'im, we do not let 'im see us. Eet ees forbidden by our elders!"  
   
Harry's eyes went wide. Even the Fearlings grew curious, stopping their play to listen. "You mean, none of you have  _ever_ talked to him?" Fleur and Gabrielle both vehemently shook their heads. "You've never even  _shown_  yourself to him? Let him know you exist? That he's not…  _alone?_ "  
   
"Why would we?" Fleur scoffed. "'e ees unnatural. 'e ees a  _fake_." She pointed furiously to the half-crescent in the sky. "Ze Man in ze Moon made 'im to mock us! You 'ave seen 'im, no? What right does 'e 'ave wielding ze power 'e does? 'Ees much too strong for a winter spirit!"  
   
Gabrielle chattered, making a wave motion with her arm and Fleur again nodded.  
   
"Yes, even ze wind favours 'im above all others. Insult!" she barked. "And now 'e uses eets 'elp to 'arm ze 'umans! And  _we_ , ze  _true_  winter spirits, bear ze blame!  _Insult!_ "  
   
Harry stared at her as she broke into her winter language to continue her complaint. Dumbledore had made many spirits but Harry knew of none that had ever been reviled by the otherworldly kind. Although, Draco  _was_  the first elemental to be created by the old man. Perhaps they did not like Dumbledore meddling in what was deemed Mother Nature's domain, especially if the spirit he created was somehow using her wind for nefarious purposes.  
   
"Have you… mentioned this to Mother?" he asked, then quickly corrected, " _The_  Mother, I mean, er, Mother Nature? That her wind favours this, uh…  _unnatural_  winter spirit?"  
   
Fleur breathed in deeply, her chest puffing, as though preparing for a long shout, but then she deflated, expression defeated. "Our elders 'ave asked why she does no'zing about zees fake, but she does not answer." She then lifted her chin proudly. "But ze Mother does not need to worry 'erself wiz petty zings. When eet ees time, she will concern 'erself wiz zis matter."  
   
"I see," Harry murmured thoughtfully, recalling when the loneliness in the air had been so thick that it had fed his monsters for days. The humans could not see him, the winter spirits and likely other elementals avoided him…  
   
All Draco had was the wind.  
   
"So he's using the wind to attack the humans," Harry said, more to himself as he contemplated the mechanics of such an attack. A Fearling flew to his hand, using his finger as a perch. "But how?"  
   
Fleur and Gabrielle exchanged shrugs.  
   
"All right, well, thanks," Harry said, lifting his hand so the Fearling could hop onto his shoulder. He gave the two winter spirits an apologetic smile. "Sorry to bother you while you're busy finishing winter. And, uh, for bringing up something you don't like."  
   
Fleur was already back to flirtatious smiles and winks, as capricious as all winter spirits were. "No apologies necessary, 'Arry, my king."  
   
Harry ducked his head bashfully. A long life had not made him any better at handling such comments.  
   
"Er, yeah. Thanks." He waved as he turned to leave. "See you two later, all right?"  
   
Before either winter spirit could respond, something small and feathery and not made of shadows or ice smacked right into Harry's nose. The girls gasped and Harry quickly snatched the tiny creature in a tight fist, the Fearlings mantling in surprise at the sudden attack, their primary shadows splayed high and wide.  
   
"Goodness, 'Arry! What  _ees_  zat zing?" Fleur asked, trying to push Gabrielle safely behind her but the little spirit fought to see what Harry held in his held, her eyes wide with curiosity.  
   
A squeaking noise came from Harry's fist and he slowly uncurled his fingers to reveal the bright and colorful feathers and iridescent wings, crumpled as they now were, of one of Lockhart's mini fairies. The tiny thing huffed at Harry, making as though to brush its feathers of dust. The Fearlings let out low hoots, irritated but lowering their shadows, and Fleur, too, scoffed at the small version of the Tooth Fairy, but Gabrielle lit up with a cheer, breaking away from Fleur and tugging Harry's hand lower. Realizing it had an audience, the fairy preened and smiled widely at the young winter spirit. It even struck a pose.  
   
"What're you doing here?" Harry flatly asked the posturing fay, tempted to shake it like a baby rattle.  
   
With a  _gasp_ , the fairy stopped showing off for Gabrielle and spun to look at Harry again, squeaking quickly in a language Harry didn't understand. Lockhart knew all the languages of the world—"I have fans on every continent, Harry-boy!  _Every_  continent!"—but apparently had not shared his knowledge with his fairies. Realizing by Harry's confused expression that it was unable to communicate verbally, the fairy carefully placed its hands on Harry's thumb and closed its eyes. It stayed that way for a moment, face crinkled in concentration, and just as Harry was about to shake it awake and demand what it was doing, a flash of emotion shot through him and he breathed in sharply at the feel of the foreign memory invading his mind.  
   
"What ees eet, 'Arry?" Fleur asked, concerned.  
   
"I have to go," he replied, roughly tucking the squeaking fairy into his pocket and batting away the Fearlings that wanted to make a snack of it. He pulled on the nearest shadows, the strongest ones as he needed to travel far, and stepped toward the darkness. "Something's happened."  
   
"'Arry? 'Arry!" Fleur called, voice dimming as Harry was enveloped in shadow. "What 'as 'appened?"  
   
Harry sent her one last look before disappearing completely.  
   
"Tooth Palace is under attack."

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_Southeast Asia, Hidden Island_  
   
When the shadows pulled away, depositing him into Lockhart's grand home, Harry expected to be blinded under the glare of morning sun and burned by the humid heat of a lingering summer. Instead, for a moment, he wondered if he had somehow gotten turned around and had landed back in France. Normally brilliant gold and glittering rainbow, the Palace was frozen solid by sheets of ice so thick that Harry could barely make out what was beneath them. The hanging towers had become gigantic icicles, the place now a cold, unfriendly cave that even the wind had difficulty penetrating rather than the warm, inviting open beehive built into the mountain's side and through which gentle breezes could pass.  
   
The agitated fairy in Harry's pocket squirmed free and flew to an iced wall, squeaking in horror as it squinted through the blue. Cautiously, Harry stepped forward and brushed away some loose snow, peering in as well, and was staggered to find not only the memory boxes that Lockhart hoarded, protected, and treasured but also the tiny forms of the other worker fairies, all frozen in place with expressions of terror and alarm. The Fearlings pecked at the cold barrier, eyeing the frozen fairies curiously, wondering how they could break through to eat the fear that was contained within the ice.  
   
Shouting from nearby made them snap to attention.  
   
"Little Lockhart," Harry whispered harshly, holding out a hand for the fairy. It quickly dove into his palm and this time didn't resist being pocketed.  
   
With a commanding gesture to the Fearlings, Harry darted through the cold shadows to emerge on the edge of the Palace's center. There, where the ice was thinnest, all four Guardians had gathered. Krum, Dudley, and Luna stood defiantly, backs together, weapons drawn, donned, and ready, and behind them kneeled Lockhart, hands worriedly clasped together, looking on the verge of tears. They all stared at one spot above and Harry followed their gaze to a higher tower—and inhaled quietly.  
   
Well.  
   
Draco had certainly changed since their last encounter.  
   
Gone were the slightly extravagant human clothes and in their place was a heavy robe of otherworldly fabric, though not like Harry had ever seen. The edges were intricately designed with swirls of frost that seemed to move and shift as fluidly as the real magic itself. The collar was piled with snow, small clumps falling with each step the spirit took yet it never shrunk, the snow continually replenished by Draco's magic. The wooden totem he held in his hand was as covered in ice as Lockhart's Palace, spiked on the crook with tiny icicles that looked like needles. The wind wove steadily around him, protectively, and the emotion he radiated past it was one of triumph.  
   
The Fearlings cooed in awed approval, much to the offense of the fairy in Harry's pocket. He frowned, but conceded to the Fearlings with a small nod.  _Not bad_.  
   
He was the Nightmare King, after all, and winter was at its most beautiful when in a dark frenzy.  
   
"Release the memories and the fairies, winter spirit!" Krum spat, pointing at Draco with one of his curved swords.  
   
"Yes!" Lockhart chimed in, clearly feeling braver with the other Guardians standing point. "Y-you have thirty seconds to unfreeze my fairies!"  
   
A movement near Draco caught Harry's eye and he watched in surprise as a huge wolf-like creature eased to Draco's side. It hummed with the magic of snow and wind, its fur moving wisps that curled in the wind, making it appear insubstantial, but something told Harry that it was every bit as solid as his shadow beasts. Its growl was the low sound of wind on a stormy night but its heavy breath was full of snowflakes.  
   
Draco stroked the windswept fur behind the creature's large ears, the frost that danced from his fingertips being absorbed, and he smirked at the Guardians. "Release them or… what? You're going to  _make_  me?" He chuckled darkly. "Fenrir here might not like that."  
   
The wind-ice wolf rumbled another warning growl.  
   
"We'll wipe the floor with you is what!" Dudley shouted, one padded foot stepping forward defensively.  
   
"Oh yes, I'm absolutely terrified," Draco mocked with a laugh. Then, feigning a thoughtful look, "I suppose I could have done the same as all of you.  You know, spend eternity cooped up in some hideout, thinking of new ways to bribe kids." He pretended to contemplate it for a moment and then shook his head. "No, no, that's not for me. No offense."  
   
"How is that not offensive?" Dudley demanded angrily, but then seemed to realize something and scoffed, crossing his gloved hands over his chest. "This is all because no one believes in you, isn't it? You're just having a tantrum because you want what we have. Well guess again, tosser! Who'd want to believe in  _you?_  The humans are  _never_  going to see you. You're invisible. It's like you don't even  _exist!_ "  
   
Luna's sand whipped out and smacked Dudley on the back of the head, the expression on the Dreamweaver's face appearing as if she were personally hurt by the words.  
   
"No, no, it's fine," Draco cut in, and his tone matched his element perfectly, his expression stony. "The kangaroo's right."  
   
"The, the  _what?_  What'd you call me?" Dudley snapped, disregarding Luna's concern. "I'm  _not_  a kangaroo."  
   
Draco hiccupped a fake laugh. "Oh. And this whole time I thought you were. If you're not a kangaroo, then what  _are_  you?"  
   
"I'm a  _bunny_. The Easter Bunny," Dudley answered proudly, standing straighter. "People  _believe_  in me."  
   
The words hung in the air, the silence that held after them weighted with all kinds of uncontained emotions. The Fearlings vibrated with excitement, each twitchy and fluttering as close as possible to hungrily watch the proceedings. Harry eyed Draco speculatively, wondering about that night in Japan, if things would be different had he offered comfort. He felt the burden of guilt now that he knew the other winter spirits had ignored Draco from the start, that there had been no one else for the spirit to rely on.  
   
A startled sob broke interrupted the tense silence. Harry looked back to the Guardians to see Lockhart having difficulty with his wings, at the same time losing several of the feathers from his body.  
   
"Oh no!" Lockhart cried, and when a booming crack sounded from one of the frozen towers, he wailed, "Nooo! No, no, no!"  
   
_It's starting already_ , Harry thought, scanning the towers as more cracking and snapping sounded.  
   
Draco, appearing confused and suspicious, also looked around, before glaring at the Guardians. "What is this? What's happening?"  
   
Stepping out of the shadows, Harry announced his presence by explaining, "Children are waking up and realizing that the Tooth Fairy never came."  
   
Draco jumped in surprise at what, to him, was an unknown voice. He immediately got defensive, unable to hide his apprehension at seeing Harry. Apparently he knew who Harry was even without ever meeting face-to-face, and he knew enough to be wary.  
   
No one wanted to make an enemy of The Boogeyman.  
   
"What do you mean?" Draco asked, swallowing nervously, and shifting back so that his wolf stood between him and the Nightmare King.  
   
"No little fairies came in the night. It's such a little thing," Harry murmured thoughtfully, "but to a  _child_ …"  
   
"What's going on?" Draco asked when Harry didn't continue, growing increasingly edgy as he looked between the Nightmare King and the Guardians.  
   
"They don't believe in me anymore," Lockhart said brokenly, losing more feathers, his fairy wings drooping uselessly at his back. Luna placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Even Harry felt bad for him, despite how annoying he was.  
   
"Didn't they tell you, Draco?" Harry called, and the winter spirit appeared shocked that Harry knew his name. "It's great being a Guardian, but there's a catch. If enough kids stop believing, everything they protect—wonder, hopes, dreams,  _memories_ … It all goes away, and little by little, so do they."  
   
Draco's eyes went wide and he turned to stare at the crumbling Tooth Fairy.  
   
"If you freeze it all, there will be nothing." Harry lifted a hand and the Fearlings gleefully obeyed, mantling their shadows and rising up threateningly. "Not even fear."  
   
Draco's gaze broke from Lockhart and quickly returned to Harry, his fear spiking sharply as he instinctively readied his staff for attack.  
   
"You're on  _their_  side then?" he asked, voice wavering even as he forced a poised air. " _You_ , the Boogeyman, are the Guardians' ally?"  
   
"Not really," Harry said with a shrug, letting the Fearlings grow and fan out amongst the ice. "They think I'm a waste of space, actually, but freezing the children's hearts affects me, too."  
   
"Ha!" Draco scoffed, though he was looking less confident by the second, hiding more behind his wolf when the Fearlings began cawing. "Losing a few believers can't be  _that_  bad for you!"  
   
"Maybe not, if you had stopped with that, but now you've frozen their memories." The shadows crept further over the ice, the wind doing little to slow them. "Now they don't remember  _why_  they need wonder and hope, why they should be  _afraid_."  
   
Terrified of the approaching shadows, the winter spirit slammed the end of his staff against the tower edge he stood on, sending a wave of frost magic through the ice to build walls in front of the Fearlings. The monsters first chattered in mocking amusement, believing they could easily pass through, but then shrilled furiously when they realized it was the same impenetrable blue ice that had encapsulated the tooth fairies. Harry recalled what Fleur had said about Draco having too much magic, and glared.  
   
"What are you talking about?" Draco demanded, and now the confidence in his tone was more authentic, the stiffness leaving his body as he realized he could defend himself. "I haven't done anything to anyone's memories!"  
   
"Is that not why you came?" Krum shouted. "To take the teeth?"  
   
"Why would I want the  _teeth?_ " Draco asked, looking disgusted. "I'm not some enamel-obsessed  _freak_  like that magpie of a fairy-bird!"  
   
Lockhart gasped, scandalised, hand dramatically flying to his heart. "Name-calling is unnecessary! And no one of my glorious stature could possibly be a freak! How dare you!" Seeming to find strength in the offense, he finally got to his feet, glaring defiantly at Draco. " _For your information_ , I am the Guardian of  _Memories_ , and  _memories_  are stored within the  _teeth!_  That's why we collect them, young Draco."  
   
"That's impossible!" Draco laughed, skeptical. "Why would there be memories in  _teeth?_ "  
   
"That's just the way it is!" Lockhart huffed. "They hold the most important memories of childhood! My fairies and I watch over them and when someone needs to remember what's important, we help them. And we have  _everyone's_  here." He pointed a finger. "Yours too!"  
   
" _What?_ " Draco scoffed, unimpressed by Lockhart's rant. " _My_  memories? I haven't lost any teeth!"  
   
"Of course you have! From when you were a child, and a bratty little thing at that. Not much has changed obviously," Lockhart snorted with amusement, but then cleared his throat at Krum's scowl and added more seriously, "From  _before_  you became a winter spirit."  
   
Harry felt a yank at his core. His immediate thought was that he'd just lost a catastrophic amount of believers, and for a moment it left him reeling, trying to figure out how Draco had managed to freeze the hearts of so many when they were both still in Tooth Palace, but then he realized that the feeling was actually the tug of an intense emotion. It was too deeply felt for his Fearlings to eat, instead reverberating through him as though he were the one personally experiencing it, and he could tell exactly from where it was coming. He looked at Draco in wonder.  
   
"But… I… I wasn't anyone before I was a winter spirit," Draco stammered, clearly stunned and confused and trying to determine if Lockhart was lying.  
   
"Of course you were," Lockhart said dismissively, as obtuse as ever. "We were all someone before we were chosen."  
   
"You should've seen the rabbit," Krum said, smirking.  
   
"Hey! I told you to never mention that!" Dudley hissed.  
   
Draco's head was shaking, ignoring their banter, his breaths coming quicker. "That night at the pond, I just… Are you saying—" his voice jumped an octave, " _Are you saying_  that I had a  _life_  before that? With a  _home?_  And a—a  _family?_ "  
   
_He didn't remember_ , Harry realized in astonishment, quickly pulling back the Fearlings before they could extend any further.  _That first night, he didn't remember his life as a human!_  
   
The heavy emotion began to lift, replaced by something that  _craved_. On the tier below, Dudley shifted uneasily, unsure, also able to feel Draco's desperation, his  _hope_  for which Dudley was Guardian—  
   
But then the chill hit.  
   
"No.  _No_ ," Draco murmured, the temperature dropping further, the already thick ice on the towers layering even more. It was the second time within the hour that Harry watched as frozen wings grew behind an increasingly livid winter spirit. "I don't believe you. You're  _lying_."  
   
The wolf Fenrir abruptly released a thunderous moan of a howl, the sound echoing off all of the ice like a thousand deep screams, so loud that even the Fearlings flinched, and then the beast of wind and ice was launching toward the centre tower where the Guardians stood.  
   
" _Move!_ " Krum shouted to Luna and Dudley, grabbing the weakened Lockhart as he did and leaping toward the nearest tower.  
   
All four Guardians managed to escape, but as soon as the wolf landed, the tower beneath its paws exploded in ice that not only spread out but grew upward, filling the empty space with rising spikes of blue. The ground beneath Harry suddenly began moving as well, the whole Palace seeming to come alive with frost as Draco's magic filled the open air, directed and encouraged by a fierce wind. The walls became thicker and thicker until the spaces between them were too thin to pass through, the fairies and the memory boxes containing the teeth no longer visible underneath.  
   
_He's freezing everything!_  Harry thought, zipping through shadows to reach beyond the Palace. Once free of the expanding magic, he turned to see the extent of the spell, finding he was just in time to watch the entire place be engulfed in ice. When the magic finally stopped, the white and blue stretched far up the normally tropical mountain.  
   
"Wow," Harry breathed, and the Fearlings were too stunned to do more than faintly chirp their agreement. "He was  _really_  pissed off."  
   
A small circle of the ground next to Harry unexpectedly caved in, making him stumble back a step, and from it burst none other than the Easter Bunny, Lockhart flung over his shoulder.  
   
"Oh, it's you," Dudley sighed, clearly disappointed, and dropped Lockhart once the hole magically closed, his own magic giving him the ability to create tunnels in the earth for quick passage—an essential need for rabbits apparently. "I was  _hoping_  it was the other two."  
   
"Well, I think it's turning into a bit of a bad day for all of us," Harry responded dryly.  
   
"A bad day? A  _bad day?_ " Lockhart snapped from the ground, rumpled, dirty, and lacking his usual cheer. He gestured wildly to his frozen home, the cold air coming off the ice appearing like steam in the tropic heat. "Does  _that_  look like a  _bad day_  to you?" With a moan of despair, he wrapped his arms around his knees and ducked his head, sniffling. "My, my  _Palace!_  He  _froze_  my Palace! Look at it! It's a giant snowball! And he froze my fairies! And the teeth! All of them! Everything is gone!  _Everything_."  
   
A movement in Harry's pocket distracted him from Lockhart's sniveling.  
   
"Oh," he said, blinking down at the little fairy that he had safely tucked there, "I forgot about you."  
   
The fairy squeaked indignantly, then wiggled free and flew to Lockhart's side. He startled when its tiny hands touched his arm but lit up with joy upon seeing it.  
   
"Oh thank goodness!" he cried, clasping the fairy between his palms and nuzzling it. "One of you is alright!"  
   
The soft sound of shifting sand made the three of them look skyward. Above, Luna and Krum sat upon a cloud of dream-sand. The Fearlings recoiled from the shining light of the stardust, chattering unhappily.  
   
"The winter spirit must have escaped," Krum said, looking not at Harry and the others but far into the distance, standing tall and authoritative. "I no longer sense him here."  
   
"Oooh!" Lockhart stumbled to his feet, scowling at Dudley. "This is all  _your_  fault!"  
   
"My fault!" Dudley huffed, "How is it  _my_  fault?"  
   
"If you hadn't attacked him, he wouldn't have started freezing everything!" Lockhart accused.  
   
"Of course I attacked him! He's been hurting the children and we  _are_  the Guardians of Childhood,  _right?_ "  
   
"We should have tried listening to him first," Krum said calmly as Luna landed her cloud next to Harry, seeming unaware of the Fearlings that squawked at her. The sand rolled in one last wave at her feet before swirling into her palms, disappearing as she recalled the light magic. She gave Dudley a mildly admonishing look as Krum continued, "You did not give him a chance to finish."  
   
"Whoa, whoa, let me get this straight," Harry interrupted, looking at Dudley in disbelief. "He came to talk and you  _attacked_ him?"  
   
"You weren't there," Dudley grumbled, but shiftily looked away. Then indignation won over his embarrassment. "And he called me a kangaroo!  _Me!_  Can you believe that?" He paused when no one answered, glancing at all of them suspiciously and then resignedly. "It's because I box, isn't it?"  
   
"Oh who cares!" Lockhart wailed. He gestured wildly to his frequently moulting body. "The more children that find their tooth still under their pillow, the more I lose believers! And now my Palace is frozen, so I can't remind them of what's important! By the time the sun sets today, I'll be—" He gasped and then slumped, defeated. "I'll be finished."  
   
"Lockhart, you need not worry," Krum said, though it sounded like a command. "Luna's good dreams are warm. They can unfreeze your home. Memories and fairies can be saved."  
   
"Oh, Luna dear," Lockhart whimpered, eyes watering as he looked hopefully to her. "Is that really possible?"  
   
She nodded, then hesitated, and then a picture of a clock appeared above her in sand, slowly ticking away.  _It will take some time_.  
   
"Maybe we could ask some winter spirits to help out?" Dudley suggested. "With the unfreezing."  
   
Krum shook his head, sighing in frustration. "That is not ice of Mother Nature. That is ice of cold heart." He looked flatly at Harry. "You feel it, too, yes?"  
   
"Yeah, there's a lot of emotion in that element," Harry answered quietly, again studying the blue that covered the Palace. The Fearlings longed to rub against it, wanting to absorb the pain it held. He sighed as he remembered his conversation with Fleur. "The other winter spirits want nothing to do with this. They don't even  _talk_  to Draco."  
   
"Trying to cut out the bad apple, huh?" Dudley scoffed.  
   
"It's not that. He was made by the Man in the Moon, not Mother Nature, so they don't consider him one of their own," Harry explained. He half-sighed, half-scoffed. "It's not a recent thing. They've  _never_  talked to him. They don't even show themselves to him. He probably thinks he's the only winter spirit on the planet. He has, essentially, been alone for the past 300 years."  
   
"So he, what? Wants a friend?" Dudley demanded angrily, misunderstanding Harry's tone, ears flattening back against his head. "Are you saying he's doing all this just because he's a little  _lonely?_ "  
   
"Never underestimate what you'll do when you're feeling a  _little lonely_ ," Harry murmured coldly, the memory of a golden prison flashing through his mind.  
   
"How long is needed, Luna?" Krum asked, changing the subject before Dudley could stick his furry foot any further into his mouth.  
   
Luna looked thoughtful, curled finger pressed to her mouth before popping up into a point as the sand shifted above her, showing a moon rising and setting, followed by a sun rising and setting.  _One night and one day_.  
   
Krum nodded and then gestured between himself, Lockhart, and Dudley. "In the meantime,  _we_  will collect the teeth."  
   
"Wh-what?" Lockhart stammered.  
   
"We get teeth, children keep believing," Krum explained, brandishing a snow globe from the inside of his large overcoat.  
   
"We're talking seven continents," Lockhart breathed, uncertainty showing even as Dudley nodded and bounced excitedly on his feet. "Millions of kids!"  
   
"Give me a break," Krum scoffed. "You know how many toys I deliver in one night?"  
   
"And eggs I hide in one day?" Dudley laughed, punching his two gloved fists together like he was preparing for a fight.  
   
"Okay," Lockhart murmured, then jumped to his feet and exclaimed, "Okay! Of course!" He dusted himself free of dirt and debris, flicking the bug wings at his back proudly, shining teeth again on display. "Nothing can stop Gilderoy Lockhart, Tooth Fairy and King of Charming Smiles!"  
   
Krum snorted, stare flat, but shook the snow globe to stir up the fake snow and magic inside and then overhand tossed it as one would a rock. Instead of flying far into the distance, it merely went a few feet and then exploded into a wormhole, sucking air into the centre as it opened wider for passage.  
   
"You helping, Potter?" Krum asked, jerking his head at the spacial warp that Lockhart had already gleefully skipped through. Nearby, Dudley thumped his large foot on the ground, opening his own magical passage and disappearing through it.  
   
Harry considered what the night ahead would entail and was on the verge of declining—common enemy or no, he was  _not_  a Guardian, nor did he want to team up with them—but then his eyes met Luna's as she calmly walked to Krum's side, her kind gaze overflowing with acceptance and trust, and he yielded with a sigh.  
   
The Fearlings were not pleased.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_China_  
   
The Guardians spread throughout the city of Shanghai after having sectioned it amongst themselves, each absorbed in the task of retrieving teeth from under pillows. Harry watched them dart through windows, dive through chimneys, and bounce out of magical rabbit holes from his perch atop a billboard, the advertisement below him that of a new brand of creamy toothpaste sparkling over bright white teeth; he wondered if any of the Guardians noticed or appreciated his humour. He doubted it. Things were all business with them.  
   
Lockhart was flying perfectly fine now, all of his dramatics at Tooth Palace exchanged for enthusiasm. Evidently, he was excited to be gathering the teeth in person rather than relying on his miniscule copies to do the task for him.  
   
"It's been four hundred and forty years since I was last out in the field," he'd squealed to Harry. "Give or take. Got seen a few times and had a bit of a break, you see."  
   
"I imagine humans do find small, cute fairies visiting them while they sleep more acceptable than a giant, feathered man, in general," had been Harry's reply.  Lockhart had ignored him, smile never faltering, and simply buzzed away to continue his work, though he did seem to pass through the children's rooms a little quicker after that, Harry noticed.  
   
For his part, Harry pulled in much of his darkness, corralling most of the Fearlings and keeping them within his reach, allowing but a few to fly amongst the dreamers. Nightmares would still be had, there was no stopping the human imagination, but the least Harry could do was encourage only a fraction of the negativity. His beasts actively fought against his hold, warbling all kinds of monstrous noises and staring longingly at the peaceful faces of happy sleepers they could not reach.  
   
"You're fine. It's not like you're going to starve," Harry told them, rolling his eyes when they took a page from Lockhart's book and began fluttering weakly as if they were fainting. "Stop it. You'll all get a turn. It's always night somewhere."  
   
And it was. With five spiritual beings—four Guardians and the one remaining tooth fairy—taking the teeth, it wasn't long before the city was cleared and they had moved to the next. Before beginning each time, they gathered to split up and claimed areas for their personal hunting. They barely talked to one another, merely grunting and nodding and then going about their task.  
   
It was efficient but  _boring_.  
   
When they made it to the North American continent, landing in what had become Virginia State, Harry abruptly remembered having seen the very winter spirit that had caused the current mess in the very town that they stood, only then the mayhem had been playful. The town was different now, wider,  _taller_ , what were once open fields now blocks of concrete buildings, but he could easily remember the swirls of frost that had teased the adults and the deep, soft snow in which the children had played.  
   
He recalled the snowball fight, how much  _fun_  it had been for the children, how the magic had spread amongst them, creating delight wherever it touched. He couldn't help but wonder, if Draco were one of the Guardians and something else were threatening them now, would they be having as much fun in collecting the teeth as the children had had with the snowball fight? Would it perhaps be a game to see who could collect the most? Would competitive banter replace the stoic nods?  
   
If Harry had spoken to Draco that day—  
   
He stopped that thought. There was no point to dealing in What Ifs.  
   
The Fearlings, who had quietly begun easing away while Harry's mind wandered, squawked as they were yanked back, talons digging in and scraping the shingles of the roof they sat upon. A spike of fear from below revealed that the beasts had managed to wake the home's occupants, the young couple worriedly whispering about the possibility of tree limbs and leaves being pushed by the wind. Harry was quick to leap from the roof, landing on a snow-covered sidewalk that needed shoveling, and glanced back as yellow light flickered on in the window, a pale face appearing soon thereafter. Harry waited, but unseeing eyes passed by him.  
   
"I should put you lot in the void and trap you there," Harry growled once the human disappeared and the light flicked off, letting his ire ripple through the monsters. A few shrilled rebelliously, but most cooed apologies in attempt to pacify him, trying to make him sympathetic to their plight.  
   
Shifting sand announced the return of Luna. She floated nearby on her cloud of dream-sand, a question mark forming in gold stardust above her head as she pointed at the Fearlings. Harry threw her a dry smile.  
   
"Just the usual trouble," he said, thumping a Fearling on the head, getting nipped in retaliation. He gestured at the small sack in Luna's hand, the item shaped from stardust. "Finished getting teeth?"  
   
Luna shook the sack, rattling the teeth inside and shrugging at what little noise they made. Apparently this town hadn't lost many teeth. The cloud of dream-sand constantly moved at her feet, tendrils of sandy light occasionally winding off in one direction or other and slipping through windows and walls as easily as any of Harry's smoky shadows. However, unlike the shadows, there were no nightmares woven, only pleasant dreams, the shapes the sand spun appearing different to each dreamer. As though sensing the fear Harry had caused the young couple, two tendrils uncoiled from the cloud and snaked into their bedroom, easing the fright left in their minds.  
   
"Feeling warm enough to unfreeze Tooth Palace?" Harry asked distractedly, peering across the street when a door slammed. A grumbling, half-awake man yawned widely and leaned back against his front door while a small dog trotted through the snow, sniffing.  
   
Luna nodded with a quiet hum, also glancing at the disgruntled human and his pet. She then deeply breathed in the warmth the good dreams her stardust aided, as one would the aroma of something sweet, and released the breath as a contented sigh. She smiled dreamily at Harry in thanks.  
   
Harry waved it off. "The sooner this is all finished, the sooner I can quit hanging out with all of you." He smirked. "Not that you're not an absolute  _joy_  to be— Luna?"  
   
The smile had dropped, Luna's expression turning tense.  
   
"Hey," Harry said, brow dipping in worry, "I was just kidding, okay? I like talking to you."  
   
Luna shook her head, not looking at Harry but instead staring into the distance. Then, with a small, soundless gasp, the tendrils of sand began speedily winding back into the cloud, all at once retracting as quickly as possible from wherever they had drifted.  
   
Harry too stared in the distance, but the light of all of Luna's dream-sand returning made it difficult for him to see. "What? What is it?"  
   
Luna looked frantic, worried, shapes flashing so quickly above her that they were nothing but a blur of gold to Harry. As he started to tell her to slow down, the little dog across the street looked up from its sniffing and began barking, seeing something that Harry could not. Hand lifting to block the light, he squinted to see down the length of one tendril, following it until he found the cause of Luna's alarm.  
   
_Wolves_.  
   
None so large as Fenrir, but what they lacked in size they made up for in number. An entire pack of the wind and ice breed loped through the air, lunging for Luna's dream-sand and turning the gold blue with frost whenever their icy fangs made contact. The stardust crumbled under the cold, the dreams it carried freezing and fragmenting, turning white and falling to the ground to sparkle atop the snow. The closer the wolves came, the louder their eerie howls became, cutting through the street like a whistle, their breaths gusting wind.  
   
The last of Luna's sand wove into the glittering cloud, bringing the pack of wolves to a stop within throwing distance of her and Harry.  
   
"The others will have noticed," Harry called.  
   
Nodding, Luna pulled two whips of particularly bright sand from her upturned palms—powerful weapons of light that she'd last used against the Fearlings, back when Harry had been out of his mind with their darkness. He couldn't help the small flinch upon seeing the whips. Luna gave him one last firm nod and the sand above her formed three shapes, those of the other Guardians. The images moved through a scene of the Guardians assisting in defeating the wolves.  
   
Harry scoffed, smirking as he glanced again at the icy canines. "As if I need any help dealing with a little  _cold_."  
   
Luna smiled indulgently.  
   
"Quiet! What's gotten into you?" hissed the man across the street as he attempted to grab the yapping dog. It dodged and skittered away from every swipe, barely looking at him as it barked at the magical wolves only it could detect. "You'll wake the neighbors!"  
   
With another soundless gasp, Luna's sand shifted into an arrow, pointing to the shadows behind the man, but before Harry could use the darkness to stop it, a wolf darted out. It sprinted after the man, who remained unseeing and unaware as he chased after his dog. Luna cracked one of her whips, the sand lengthening as the line whistled through the air, but the wolf dodged the whip and leaped for the man's chest.  
   
Harry sucked in a breath when the man jerked as the wolf passed through him. Even the Fearlings had seemed to stop breathing, hollow eyes wide and watching with an intense mixture of curiosity and wonder, their interest echoing into Harry.  
   
In but half a second, the wolf landed on the other side of the man, icy paws barely making contact with the ground before the strike from Luna's second whip shattered it into white dust. She readied the sand at her feet, pouring warmth into it, both she and Harry expecting the man to become a statue of ice, to freeze as Tooth Palace had; but the seconds passed and the man, though unmoving, was not swallowed by the cold. Instead he merely stood there blinking, appearing not confused yet not aware either. Harry exchanged a concerned look with Luna, unsure what had happened, if the wolf had done any damage at all, but then, with a short but deep breath, the man faced his dog again.  
   
The little thing, having been startled by the sudden proximity of the wolf, had retreated to under a leafless azalea bush, continuing its barking from the safety the twigs provided. The man stared at it for a moment, and then turned toward the front door, muttering, "Fine. Freeze if you want," before going back inside the house, the lock clicking into place once the door closed.  
   
"His heart, it's cold!" Harry said, realising. He glared at the howling wolves that now surrounded them, more having appeared in the quick moment they'd been distracted by the human. "So that's how Draco's doing it. He's using the spirit of the wind."  
   
Luna stared at the wolves sadly. More and more joined the pack that circled them, the howling loud and eerie, the force of the breaths pushing the trees in all directions, threatening to send the oaks crashing into the homes. Harry could taste fear from humans waking, the unwitting beings bewildered and scared by the sudden storm.  
   
"We need to get away from here!" Harry shouted over the noise, "Get somewhere less populated!"  
   
Luna nodded her agreement and, a beat later, her cloud of sand had shot straight up, taking to the sky.  
   
Most of the pack followed, so many springing at once that the force of them pushing off the ground blew snow into the air like fog. Through the powder, Harry could make out the flashes of light that were Luna's whips, each flash followed by a firework burst of snow as the wolves were destroyed. He looked at the wolves that had remained with him, noticing that it was only a few, the creatures no doubt believing he was little threat as he did not radiate warmth like Luna.  
   
With a grin, Harry held out a hand for the Fearlings to gather, shaping them with shadows into a long-handled scythe. He swung it wide as the first wolf sprang forward, expecting his weapon of darkness to slice through and destroy the cold. It did indeed cut the wolf and for a moment he felt victorious, but then, to his great surprise, rather than explode into shattered ice, the wolf merely turned into wispy air before reforming to their original shape, appearing unaffected by the momentary insubstantiality.  
   
Just like his shadows.  
   
"I stole the idea from you," a voice confirmed, and Harry's eyes flicked up to see Draco standing on the bare branch of a tree. The winter spirit smirked at him. "Ingenious, isn't it? No matter how solid you make your shadows, they can't hurt my wind, and your monsters can't get past my ice." A lofty scoff. "I'd say I've neutralised the threat of the  _Boogeyman_."  
   
Harry regarded Draco for a moment, and then relaxed his stance, saying calmly, "I suppose you have," as he let his scythe dissolve. The Fearlings chattered indignantly as they returned to him. They did not take insult well. He only hummed thoughtfully, playing at docility. "Your magic is odd, not at all like a normal winter spirit."  
   
Draco scowled, emotions flickering behind his eyes. "Don't compare me to  _them!_ "  
   
Ah. So he was aware of them after all.  
   
"Touchy subject, huh?" Harry asked in a tone that implied mock sympathy, though truthfully he did feel it to a certain degree. He pulled shadows around himself before Draco could respond, disappearing so quickly the wolves that tried to chase after him only bit air. He quietly watched from the shadows as Draco spun in all directions, looking for him, iced staff held defensively.  
   
"You can't hurt me," Draco snapped, glaring in the wrong direction before turning toward another. "Shadows can't hurt anything!"  
   
Harry snorted lightly, the sound echoing between all the shadows so that Draco couldn't pinpoint his location. "Of course they can't. But what's  _in_  the shadows  _can_."  
   
He silently appeared on the branch behind Draco, watching the other spirit search everywhere else, mistakenly believing he was safe with the trunk at his back. Amused, Harry lifted a hand and delicately ran a finger down Draco's cold spine; with his touch, he could either incite fear or soothe it. He chuckled as the snowflake shrieked and arched away from the fearful chill he gave and caught the staff as Draco spun. He leaned into Draco's space.  
   
" _Boo_."  
   
Draco's eyes went wide and he stumbled, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away and falling off the branch when Harry gave the staff and spirit both a light shove. The wind rushed forward anxiously, easily catching him, the two elements fumbling briefly before Draco was upright again, ruffled but glaring at Harry.  
   
Harry grinned and smugly leaned against the tree trunk, arms crossed. "Still think I can't hurt you?"  
   
"I'm not afraid of you!" Draco snarled, but then the wind soothingly brushed against him and he relaxed with a short huff. Composing himself, even replacing the snow to the collar of his robe, most of which had fallen while he'd flailed, he asked, "Should you really be paying attention to me right now?" At Harry's arched brow, question unspoken, he sneered and pointed a finger skyward. "I mean, with your Guardian friend fighting so hard?"  
   
Given what he knew of Luna's strength, it hadn't occurred to Harry that the howling above had yet to quiet for any reason other than vast numbers.  However, when his gaze followed Draco's directional gesture, he found himself staggered by the war being waged between dream-weaver and wolf pack.  
   
Luna was losing, that much was obvious. The pack had surrounded her, so many running circles around her sand that they blurred together like a tornado of ice. Individuals lunged from the swirl and though each one was forced back by golden whips, it was clear their frost was taking a toll on the stardust.  Luna's weapons grew thinner, shorter, as the circling mass tightened closer with each rotation.  
   
"It's nothing personal," Draco said quietly, then blushed blue when he noticed Harry looking at him speculatively. A façade of arrogance quickly dropped into place. "Anyway. With this the Guardians will be finished. No more good dreams means no more warmth. Just cold. Just  _me_."  
   
And with that, the wind carried him off, taking him high to where he could comfortably and passively watch Luna fall prey to the cold, leaving Harry to feel useless and weak. The Fearlings twittered indecisively, stuck between wanting to cheer on the wolves and wanting to strike back against Draco. Harry furiously shushed them, clamping his spiritual grip around them tight enough to choke their voices into awkward squawks, returning his worried gaze to Luna.  
   
She was trapped at her position, unable to do more than defend against the wolves that leaped for her centre, trying to freeze her heart. She could not drop lower without bringing the pack's raging storm upon the humans' homes, but as he was a shade and not an elemental, Harry could not ride the winds to her aid. The night sky did give him strength, but his shadows could not reach nearly high enough to be of any help.  
   
Desperate, he sent scouter Fearlings into the town's natural shadows to search for the other Guardians, wondering why they had yet to arrive. He was startled when the Fearlings were quick to return, but the information they shared was disheartening, for the other Guardians, too, were busy fending off an onslaught of wind and ice canines.  
   
However, it was clear that Luna was Draco's main objective; he had come specifically for her, likely knowing the threat her stardust posed to his ice. The circling pack was close enough to her now that they could simply snap at the glowing sand at her feet without leaving the swirl, the brittle, ruined edges of the cloud crumbling like falling snow, the blue they cut into it creeping over its warmth like frostbite.  
   
_Like poison_ , Harry thought, fists clenched. The Fearlings crowding him as they again grew excited—  
   
He gasped.  
   
_Poison!_  
   
Snatching two Fearlings, Harry molded them with shadows into a bow and arrow, pouring an overwhelming amount of darkness into their creation, and hurriedly drew, pulling the black string taut.  
   
He took aim, first lining up the point on Draco, wishing it were the winter spirit he could make his target, but Draco was protected by his magic and the wind.  
   
Knowing what he had to do, Harry slid the point to Luna—  
   
" _Forgive me_."  
   
—and released.  
   
The arrow whistled through the air, passing easily through the mass of wolves, darkness and cold unaffected by one another, and sank into Luna's shoulder.  
   
Harry's stomach turned as she jerked upon contact, not even the extreme delight filtering into him from the Fearlings able to ease his guilt. He watched, sickened, as the black spread quickly, her golden skin and sand turning dark. She faltered, struggling to turn, looking down at Harry, stunned, hurt _,_  and confused by his betrayal.  
   
He shook his head at her, trying to convey the purpose of his actions in his expression, murmuring, "Don't fight the fear. It won't be forever."  
   
As the darkness crawled up her neck, she smiled—  
   
And then she and cloud both disappeared in a wave of black sand.  
   
_Nightmare_ - _sand_.  
   
A sharp feeling, like an electrical shock, resounded through Harry as he connected with the tainted stardust, Luna's magic becoming his to manipulate. Without hesitation, he slung the sand outward, fisted hand opening to direct it. Glittering black spikes tore through the tornado of wolves, his control of the magic effective in its purpose but unsteady due to his inexperience. The wolves shattered all at once, the cold no longer unaffected by his attack.  
   
It was a perfect blend of abilities. Luna's sand gave his shadows the solidity they needed against the unique winter magic and his darkness prevented the sand from being frozen— _fear_  was already cold.  
   
Sparkling ice fell from the sky, a fine powder like dust rather than snow, as the last of the wolves was crushed by the nightmare-sand. Rotating his wrist as he had seen Luna do many times, Harry urged the sand to gather beneath his feet, using it to lift himself from the ground. His cloud was a little wobbly compared to Luna's own, the rolling waves of black sand more like those in a violent storm and less like the gentle ones of a calm day, but as with all magics, the more he used it, the easier it became to wield.  
   
"I-I… Y-You…" Draco stuttered, wide-eyed, as Harry and the black cloud got to be level with him, his fear spiking in the air deliciously.  
   
"This ends now. Sleep for a bit while we decide what to do with you," Harry murmured, directing the darkened sand across the sky, the feel of it conjuring from his palms rough and strange.  
   
It rose and fell like a giant wave, the heavy sound of sand falling drowning out the excited trilling and hooting of the Fearlings. Draco fought back in a panic, sparks of frost snowing where he tried to cast defensive magic, none of it strong enough, and nightmare-sand poured over him like a waterfall, the white of his hair and skin flickering amongst the black before disappearing beneath it entirely.  
   
Harry shook his head pityingly as the last of the sand finished falling, casting Draco into a deep but disturbed sleep. "I'd say sweet dreams, but there aren't any left."  
   
A crack like thunder suddenly sounded from the center of the nightmare-sand, the reverberation of it moving through the black grains all the way to cloud at Harry's feet, making him stumble. Confused, he made to recall the sand to see what had happened, but before he could, the thunder again rumbled and a sudden flash of white light tore through the sand, climbing as jaggedly and speedily toward him as lightening. He yanked sand and shadows both like the edge of a cloak around himself for protection, but it was too late and the light crashed into him, cutting through his defense like a hot blade.  
   
Belatedly, he realized if it were a blade it'd be a frozen one, so cold it burned, and that the light was actually white ice. For the tiniest millisecond, he could see Draco on the other end of it, still very much awake and expression tight with concentration, but then the force of the ice spell hitting his nightmare-sand exploded with a loud bang and he was flung backwards.  
   
Harry swung a hand out to grasp at the nearest shadows, trying to slow himself from the disorienting speed, but he was moving so quickly that even the nightmare-sand lagged several yards behind him as it tried to keep pace. With nothing to ease his descent, he crashed first through a blinking traffic light, sending it spinning around the cable it hung from, and then off the roof of a car before skidding across the concrete street, finally coming to an aching stop, amber light moving up and down over him as the traffic light continued to bounce.  
   
"Well I wasn't wrong about him making things fun," Harry groaned, staggering to his feet, grateful that he wasn't as feeble as a human but needing to press a cool hand to the slight pain in his lower back all the same. He was getting too old for this sort of thing.  
   
The Fearlings ruffled and puffed back into shape, displeased at having been squashed during the crash. They hissed at the approaching black sand, obviously angered that it hadn't been as wonderful a gain as expected, and pecked pointlessly at it when it again curled into the cloud at Harry's feet.  
   
A quick search of the sky and nearby shadows revealed no sign of Draco—the winter spirit had either escaped or had also been sent flying by the aftershock. It seemed, for now, the threat had passed. Harry recalled the sand, letting the magic move into his palms, shaking his hands uncomfortably when it settled. It wasn't  _hot_ , per se, not with his darkness mixed in with it, but it was about a degree warmer than he was accustomed. And it was itchy.  
   
"Oi!"  
   
Harry turned just in time to avoid being punched. The Easter Bunny glowered at him, large front teeth bared.  
   
"You—you— How could you do that to her? To  _Luna!_ " Dudley demanded. At Harry's surprised look, he snapped, "You think we didn't see or something? How you shot her in the back!"  
   
"…It was her shoulder," Harry corrected, glancing behind Dudley at a stern-faced Krum and nervous Lockhart. Catching movement from the corner of his eye, he backed up before Dudley could take another swing. "Stop that. It's not like she's gone forever." He sighed at the rabbit's confusion. "Didn't you know? As long as the belief is strong, nightmares can become good dreams. We can bring her back."  
   
_Maybe_ , he didn’t add.  
   
"You turned her dark to protect her from the cold," Krum said with an air of dawning understanding, giving Harry a speculative eye.  
   
Harry shrugged. "He was going to turn her heart cold. Better us to have her than him."  
   
"That's a good way of looking at it!" Lockhart nervously laughed. When he didn't receive any amusement from the others, his smile wavered and his cheer dimmed. He toed at the yellow line painted in the street like he could rub it off, looking humanly childish, and mumbled, "What now? Luna's not here to give the children good dreams, and we can't keep getting all the teeth ourselves…"  
   
"I…" Harry hesitated, "I can…  _stop_  the bad dreams," he said tentatively, and immediately the Fearlings shrieked their disagreement. They refused to be shushed, jabbing so viciously at Harry with their sharpened shadows that he suspected they might actually leave marks this time, not just the lingering feeling of pain. He had to shout to be heard over the ruckus they made. "But as you may have noticed, I can't do that for long. We'll have to figure out something else and  _soon_."  
   
"Leave that to me," Dudley said, swinging his boxing gloves in one hand before looping them over his shoulder. He grinned. "Easter is tomorrow and I need your help. You keep those nightmares of yours away from the children until then and I'll keep the believers believin'."  
   
"The rabbit is right," Krum said with one, short nod. "As much as it pains me to say it, this time Easter is more important than Christmas."  
   
"Huh." Dudley appeared shocked for a moment and then glanced suspiciously between Harry and Lockhart, even giving Harry the stink-eye over the still cawing Fearlings. "Everyone heard that, right?"  
   
"We will head to the Warren and prepare the eggs," Krum continued, ignoring him. "Potter, keep those nightmares to yourself. If you find a strong believer, see about Luna."  
   
The look he gave Harry then indicated he knew just as well that it was a coin toss whether Luna would really return or not.  
   
"Yeah," Harry agreed, eyeing the glowing sabers at Krum's waist, knowing he'd be on their sharp end if it turned out Luna's fate had already been sealed. Not that he'd fight it if that turned out to be the case. "I'll see what I can do."  
   
"There will be springtime on every continent!" Dudley cheered, practically bouncing on his toes, "And I'm bringing hope with me!"  
   
Krum nodded at Harry as Dudley stomped a hole for them to enter his warren. "Meet us at sunrise. We'll need help should Draco appear when we're hiding eggs." He gave Harry a pointed look. "I am serious, Potter. Be there."  
   
"Sure," Harry agreed coolly. "See you later."  
   
He watched as first Lockhart, then Dudley, and finally, with one last pointed look, Krum disappeared into the magical portal, the remaining three Guardians heading off to spend the coming day and night preparing eggs. He wondered if it was the influence of Luna in her magic, or perhaps the lingering sadness of the winter spirit, that made him feel like he was being left behind.  
   
Well, no matter. He had other things to worry about at the moment. After all, there was still a little dog that needed to somehow find its way indoors.

 

 

 

 

   
_Pacific Ocean_  
   
If there was one thing Harry was certain of, it was that he was going to be deaf by morning.  
   
The Fearlings had not  _shut up_  since the split with the Guardians, his ears now buzzing from the constant squawking and chatter. The more their hunger grew, the louder they became, to the point that he'd had to summon the nightmare-sand and fly over the uninhabited waters to prevent their malevolent noises from sending chills down the back of every human within ten miles. Technically, only believers could really  _hear_  them—meaning even if the children weren't having nightmares, they were still just as terrified awake—but even the staunchest of non-believers would subconsciously recognize the breath of darkness in the air.  
   
The Fearlings couldn't technically do much harm to him, not physically, but they could certainly make his eternal life difficult.  
   
_As if it weren't already_ , Harry thought with a snort. Babysitting evil until the end of time was hardly an honour.  
   
"Shut it!" he shouted at them, using his control as vessel to push them back. They were muffled for but a second before they burst forth again, talons clinging to his arms, shoulders, hair, neck—wherever they could reach. He tried covering his ears, but groaned in desperate frustration when it did little good, as it only made their voices echo inside his mind. "It's just for one night!" He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. "Tomorrow it'll be over and done and we can forget it ever happened!"  
   
The words rang false; length of time was irrelevant to eternal beings. What mattered to them was what they were currently experiencing. And he knew they'd never forget, the sensitive little beasts, the way they held grudges any time they received even the tiniest slight. Time may not have mattered, but their memories were perfect, clear all the way to their birth, as though everything that had occurred in the past millennia had all taken place not minutes earlier.  
   
_Memories…_  
   
"Let's go back to Tooth Palace," Harry said thoughtfully, shifting rough sand between his fingers. "If we can break through the ice and release the fairies, then we won't have to worry about holding back all of the nightmares."  
   
Instantly, all of the chattering stopped, the constant barrage of pecking and nipping that had numbed his back ceasing as well.  
   
Harry sighed in relief.  
   
_Oh glorious silence_.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_Southeast Asia, Tooth Palace_  
   
Even from a distance it was obvious the mountain was still frozen, but Harry could tell that something was different. He neared the iced-over Palace cautiously, lowering his presence, and thankfully the Fearlings remained quiet, only cheeping to share what they saw and felt in the shadows. As he eased closer to the base of the mountain where the main entrance of Tooth Palace would normally be, he saw that a path had been cleared through the ice—a tunnel of sorts.  
   
A Fearling hopped into his hand as soon as he held it out, shaking its shadows free from the others and looking at him expectantly. He nodded to it, understanding passing between them, and then lifted his hand in a light boost as it flew silently into the Palace, melding with the natural shadows so that it disappeared from the sight of any but the Nightmare King.  
   
It returned after a short time, greeted by affectionate preening from the others, the monsters finding the cooled, smooth shadows it brought with it more pleasant than the lukewarm, rough sand that agitated their dark feathers. It relayed its findings to Harry with a chirp.  
   
"Oh?" Harry hummed as the Fearling's sight became his, the image of Draco sorting through memory boxes appearing in his mind. "So he's fine. And busy looking for his memories. Guess he believed Lockhart after all."  
   
Trusting that the winter spirit would be too absorbed in his task to notice an intruder, Harry slipped through the shadows until he was within the Palace. A cavern was carved out of the ice so that the memory boxes could again be seen along the walls, now covered by only a thin layer. The hanging tower in the centre was still frozen, but as Harry neared it, he could see small holes cut in the ice, making it look like a blue net. Within the net a hum could be heard, tiny bodies fluttering from one side to the other.  
   
_A giant cage_ , Harry realized. Draco had released the tooth fairies from the ice but had made sure they stayed confined to the Palace, preventing them from retrieving lost teeth.  
   
The winter spirit himself wasn't hard to find. From a dimmed overhang of ice, Harry spotted him flying up and down the rows upon rows of memory boxes, every box bearing the face of the child whose teeth were collected within it. Draco looked quickly at the faces, aggravation increasing at each unfamiliar one, the daunting task of searching through billions of boxes before him.  
   
Fortunately, Lockhart was actually an organized being. The rows were sorted by location and then filtered carefully by decades; as humans died, their teeth disappeared. Draco had not officially passed to the world of the dead, making his remaining teeth some of the oldest in the Palace. Knowing this, Harry gathered the Fearlings, having to yank them away from the ice they rubbed contentedly against, and sent them scattering to a far end of the Palace that contained the few teeth of centuries past, ordering them to search for the box that bore a face similar to Draco.  
   
"Probably not as pale," he murmured to them as they dissolved into the natural shadows, "His hair won't be white."  
   
They quietly but agitatedly twittered at him, because  _obviously_  they already knew that.  
   
Harry rolled his eyes.  
   
He had been present for the winter spirit's rebirth and could only hope the human child Draco once was had been born and raised and  _lost teeth_  in the same location. Humans had been all about building ships and crossing oceans then, but Harry remembered the attire Draco had worn when Dumbledore pulled him from the iced pond: fancy, well-tailored; the clothes of an entitled child. He remembered the way the townspeople had been quieted by the death; to command that respect, his family's roots would have to be deep.  
   
Within minutes the beasts were returning, accompanied by the quiet clinking of teeth rattling in their holder. Harry took the rainbow-coloured box from them and turned it to one circular end, looking at the face stamped there. Indeed it was the human child version of Draco—still pale and hair  _almost_  white in how blond it was, but the cheeks were pink rather than blue, chubbier in the way that young children's were, and the smile was carefree,  _happy_ , as Harry had never seen on Draco before, not even when the spirit made mischief.  
   
But what really struck him were the boy's eyes. They were the same cloud-grey, softer perhaps without the wretchedness weighing behind them.  
   
As Harry considered the colour, he abruptly and belatedly realized that Fleur, Gabrielle, and all the other winter spirits, their eyes were dark blue. It was another thing that set Draco apart from those who should be his own kind, another indication that he was not born at the hand of Mother Nature but rather at that of the Man in the Moon.  
   
Harry rubbed his thumb over the picture, over the carefully printed name underneath that read  _Draco Malfoy_ , and then lightly rattled the box, listening to the old teeth shift and wondering what memories they contained—wondering if they would help the distraught winter spirit or make him feel worse.  
   
A Fearling suddenly trilled in warning and Harry jerked out of his thoughts in time to see lightning ice speeding toward him. He didn't bother to defend and instead jumped into the shadows, easily slipping through them to a different part of the cavern. In the open sky he had been vulnerable, but a place like this, a place with  _shadows_ , was familiar and comfortable territory.  
   
He eased out of high shadows, giving him a vantage point over the floating winter spirit. Draco was looking around, searching, clearly knowing the attack had missed, and Harry smirked. He tucked the memory box in his robe for safe keeping and again stepped through the shadows, this time appearing lower and letting his shadow reflect against the ice.  
   
"Looking for something?" he asked, voice in all the shadows at once, echoing through the cavern, and Draco blasted at the shape of him on the ice, the winter spirit's fear raising a notch when he realized it was a fake. Harry smiled and let a few Fearlings into the shadows to play their tricks. "Don't be afraid, Draco. I'm not going to hurt you."  
   
"Afraid?" Draco scoffed, though his voice shook just a little. He caught sight of a Fearling moving along a wall and, assuming it was Harry, zoomed after it, but it disappeared before he got too close and he huffed in frustration. "I've already said it, I'm  _not_  afraid of you!"  
   
"Maybe not," Harry conceded, slipping into the shadows behind him, "but you  _are_  afraid of something."  
   
Draco was looking in all the wrong directions, sending ice after the cooing Fearlings. "You think so, huh?"  
   
"I know so. It's the one thing I always know, people's greatest fears," Harry murmured, reaching out and sliding a finger through the snow at Draco's collar, relishing the way the cold felt against his sand-warmed skin. Draco spun but, like before, Harry grabbed the staff before it could be used. He stared into human-grey eyes. "Yours is that no one will ever believe in you, that no one will ever  _accept_  you."  
   
Panic flashed in Draco's expression and, giving a hard tug, he tried to pull the staff free. Harry let him have the tug and then yanked back harder, dragging Draco into the shadows, spinning him through them and then depositing him at a different location in the cavern. His eyes went unfocused, confused, and he fell back against the iced wall, only to have the Fearlings reach for him and pull him through more shadows, letting him stumble out elsewhere, looking even dizzier.  
   
"And worst of all," Harry continued, gliding through darkness to Draco's level, "you're afraid you'll never know  _why_. Why you? Why were you chosen to be like this?"  
   
"Do you  _know?_ " Draco roughly snapped, voice wavering like he was seasick. "Do you know why I exist?"  
   
Harry sighed, stepping free of the shadows. "No, I don't. The Man in the Moon doesn't really share his reasons for doing anything, you see. But," he reached into his pocket and revealed the memory box, Draco gasping lightly at the sight of it. "The answers may be in here."  
   
Draco's breathing had ceased as he stared at the box, and there was a different taste to his fear, tentative almost.  
   
"Do you want them, Draco?" Harry asked solemnly. "Your memories?"  
   
The winter spirit closed his eyes, jaw tightening and body stiffening as though fighting the impulse to snatch the box. He seemed to be warring with himself, struggling to make a decision. When he opened his eyes again, Harry had already moved back into the shadows, studying the panic his disappearance caused.  
   
"Everything you want to know could be in this little box," Harry said, again letting his voice echo so that Draco couldn't pinpoint him even though they were only separated by a few feet. Fearlings eased from the shadows, closing in around Draco, and he swatted at them as they glided over his head, doing nothing more than dispersing them into misty air.  
   
"Why did you end up like this?" Harry queried, continuing to speak aloud Draco's fears. "Unseen. Unable to reach out to anyone. You want the answer so badly. You want to grab them and fly off with them, but you're afraid of what you'll find out."  
   
Another Fearling flew at Draco, but this time, it dispersed before he could slap it and reformed around his wrist, binding him and pulling him toward the shadows where Harry stood. The Fearling moved to settle on Draco's shoulder when Harry's fingers took its place, cooing and nuzzling snow-soft hair, shadowed feet buried in the snowy collar. Draco appeared distinctly disturbed, but his panic jumped even higher when the other Fearlings joined the first, settling over him like a dark blanket and trapping him next to Harry. His wrist trembled in Harry's grip; he even squeaked when the Fearlings let their shadows slide down him, the beasts shivering in delight at his cold skin.  
   
"You're afraid that your memories will make you even less like a winter spirit than you already are," Harry said, not loosening his grasp even as Draco struggled under the Fearlings. "You're afraid of disappointing  _them_ , the other winter spirits. Well let me ease your mind about one thing: they'll  _never_  accept you."  
   
"Stop it," Draco gasped, trying to scramble away. "Stop it!"  
   
Taking pity on him, tasting the sharp increase in sadness, Harry nodded at the Fearlings to ease back a little. They reluctantly obeyed, retracting their shadows but not leaving the winter spirit entirely.  
   
"You're not one of them," Harry said quietly, calmly, not meaning it as an insult, and loosened his grip.  
   
Draco immediately jerked free, shaking his shoulder and swinging his arms and staff wildly around his head to shoo all the Fearlings. He scowled at them as they resettled on Harry. "You don't know what I am!" He thrust out a hand. "Give me my memories!"  
   
"Say the magic word," Harry teased with a smirk, tapping the memory box lightly against his own shoulder.  
   
A roar rumbled through the cavern, cutting off Draco's angry response, and a large wolf of wind and ice stepped through the entrance of Tooth Palace.  
   
Harry frowned.  
   
_Fenrir._  
   
"Oh, look who's back," Draco said, trying for nonchalance, but the relief was evident in his voice. Some of his confidence returning, he sneered at Harry. "Guess that means no Easter."  
   
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"  
   
Draco gave a short laugh. "You know, for one so  _chummy_  with the Guardians, you're not very good at being a team player, are you? First shooting one in the back, and now leaving the others to fend for themselves…"  
   
"What time is it?" Harry murmured, suddenly worried, and sent a Fearling to beyond the iced Palace to check the location of the sun.  
   
"Time too late," Draco answered nastily despite the question not being directed at him.  
   
Harry sent him a look that snapped his mouth shut and had him zooming over to his wolf's side. The Fearling returned and Harry cringed at its response.  
   
"We'll continue this later," he warned before moving into the shadows.  
   
"Wait!" Draco called, "My memories—"  
   
But Harry was already stepping far away, disappearing into the darkest black.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_England, Underground Oasis_  
   
The air was hot, heated by earthen walls and made humid by excess water from melting ice—ice which shouldn't be there.  
   
The heat was practically unbearable to Harry, to the Fearlings even more so, but he stood in the moss-covered tunnel for a bit longer than necessary, surveying the scene before him guiltily. Breathing in deeply and releasing the breath with a sigh, Harry crouched to flick at the crushed egg shells that littered the ground, a pastel rainbow of broken hope. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened but he had a pretty good idea, and he was  _definitely_  sure the Guardians would not be pleased he hadn't been around to prevent it, his nightmare-sand the only real threat to Draco's wolves.  
   
Another sigh as he stood and he motioned for the Fearlings that listlessly poked eggshells to return.  
   
"Come on. Let's find them and get this over with."

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_United States_  
   
The expressions on the children's faces were certainly disheartening, Harry thought. The Fearlings, perhaps, were the only ones pleased by the disappointment that soured the air, but even their joy was stifled under the impending lack of believers.  
   
The Guardians hadn't noticed Harry yet, and he was reluctant to reveal himself, not feeling particularly inclined to take their no doubt violent admonition. He had failed them. He had been handed an opportunity to prove that he wasn't simply a lurker in the shadows that frightened small humans into feeding their fear to his monsters—and he'd failed.  
   
_But I_ am _just a lurker_ , Harry flatly thought, watching two children who unhappily walked past him, the baskets they carried completely empty.  _I'm the Boogeyman_.  
   
"I don't understand. There are no eggs. There's none anywhere," the little boy said, sniffling. "I give up. Come on, let's go."  
   
"Maybe he just hid them really well this year," the girl responded, though she didn't sound or look like she believed the words herself.  
   
And there was Dudley, bouncing out of the bushes, trying to gain their attention. "Kids! Oi!"  
   
"I checked everywhere!" the boy went on, not hearing. "There's nothing!"  
   
"Yes there is! There is!" Dudley insisted desperately, holding out a basket filled with colourful eggs. "I mean, these aren't my best looking ones," he picked one from the basket and held it out to the little girl, "but they'll do, right?"  
   
She only stared sadly at the egg—or rather, through it. "I can't believe it—"  
   
"I know," Dudley said, wincing at the apparently discoloured egg.  
  
  
"There's no such thing as the Easter Bunny."  
   
For a moment, Dudley looked like his heart had stopped. Then his nose twitched, expression turning uncertain.  
   
"Uh… what?" he asked in a small voice.  
   
"Easter's over. Forget this," the boy muttered, and tossed his empty basket at a nearby trash can.  
   
"No! Wrong! Not true!" Dudley cried, bouncing to stop the child. "Look! I'm right in front of you!"  
   
"This is the worst Easter  _ever_ ," the girl sobbed, and Dudley spun to comfort her, desperate to make her understand—  
   
But she walked through him.  
   
The world had dropped out from under the rabbit. He looked utterly crestfallen, and the guilt in Harry's chest tightened even further, unaffected by the malicious joy coming from the Fearlings.  
   
"They don't see me?" Dudley murmured, horrified. "They don't see me."  
   
"I can't watch this," Harry mumbled, turning away even as the Fearlings drank in the Easter Bunny's distress like hummingbirds after nectar. When he had told Dudley that he was grateful for the Guardian's help, he had  _meant it_. This had been his chance to repay the favour.  
   
"Where were you?" a stern voice demanded as he moved to leave, and then Krum was before him, blocking his path, livid, Lockhart standing anxiously nearby. "The wolves attacked the tunnels. They smashed or froze every egg. Nothing made it to the top.  _Nothing_."  
   
"Where did you get that?" Lockhart gasped, pointing at the memory box that peeked out of Harry's pocket, the picture and the name  _Draco Malfoy_  visible on the cylindrical end.  
   
"You were with  _him?_  With Draco?" Krum growled before Harry could respond. "You were helping him find his memories instead of defending Easter with us?"  
   
"That's not what happened," Harry sighed, wanting to scowl at the irate Santa Claus but knowing he had no ground to be angry.  
   
"He has to go! We should never have trusted you!" Dudley shouted, stomping over, getting close enough that the Fearlings mantled threateningly in defense. He lifted a fist, face pinched in fury, and Harry was contemplating how well Luna's sand would protect against a punch, when the fight abruptly left him and he slumped, fist lowering.  
   
"Easter is new beginnings, new life," the rabbit murmured sadly, long ears drooping. "Easter is about  _hope_. And now… it's gone."  
   
"Listen, I wasn’t—" Harry cut off with a sigh, still feeling the angry gaze of Krum and the appalled one of Lockhart on his back. He faced them and shook his head to stop their reprimands, holding up a hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'll see what I can do, okay?"  
   
"Not much, Nightmare King," Krum growled. "Not much."  
   
Harry realized then that, even if he had repaid the favour, even if he'd been on time at Dudley's warren and protected the eggs, he would never really be their comrade.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_Antarctica_  
   
It was dark, the months of night nearing for the South Pole, but the continent glowed white like a ghost, blanketed under centuries of snow. It was beautiful, that deadly cold, with the calm, dark ocean breaking gently against the white, and the night sky dusted with millions of glowing stars. Harry had been among them once, the stars, had lived knowing he would become one when he ascended—but that had been before the creatures of darkness.  
   
Rarely did he have the chance to approach the Antarctic from the air, normally needing to step through shadows to reach the disconnected continent, so he took his time traveling over the water, riding on the nightmare-sand. The situation was already dire; it mattered little if he found the winter spirit later rather than sooner, though he preferred the reverse, but letting the cold air brush past was soothing, both to him and the Fearlings.  Their shadows extended and trailed behind him, whipping like a giant cape.  
   
He noticed a few human outposts, sparsely populated and scattered, but avoided these and searched instead the most isolated parts of the barren, white plains. Truthfully, Harry didn't know if Draco was actually on the southern-most continent, but it was doubtful the other winter spirits allowed him near their hidden villages within the Arctic Circle. Antarctica seemed like a reasonable place to search for a pariah of their kind.  
   
It turned out that the logic was sound, knowledge accumulated through thousands of years proving useful. He almost flew past Draco, the spirit blending in so well with his natural climate, but the Fearlings recognized him immediately and began tweeting excitedly. Evidently they had become rather fond of the wayward snowflake after the last encounter, their grievances with him overlooked for the time being.  
   
Draco sat on the edge of an ice shelf, legs crossed, elbow propped on knee and chin in hand, staring over the water with a dull expression as if bored, and he didn't appear to hear Harry land softly behind him. He did, however, notice Harry after he heaved a sigh and flopped backwards into the snow, eyes catching the hint of black against white, and he tilted his head back with a, "Hm?"  
   
"Hey there, handsome," Harry taunted. "I thought you might be here."  
   
"Ah!" Draco scrambled to his feet, snatching his discarded staff from where it had sunk in the snow. Without even so much as a  _hello_ , he swung it in a wide arch, ice shooting from the crook and Harry had to leap back into the shadows to avoid being hit.  
   
"Go away!" the winter spirit shouted, backing to the edge of the ice shelf so that Harry couldn't get behind him again—or so he assumed. He really needed to stop thinking that. "And how'd you know where I'd be, Nightmare King?"  
   
"I, too, have a name, you know," Harry said in lieu of answering, sending Fearlings through to the shadow cast by the ice shelf.  
   
"Wh-whatever! I don't care!" Draco snapped, frost collecting in the air around his staff, his eyes darting to all the corners. "Fenrir's not that far off. You try anything and he'll come!"  
   
"No he won't," Harry scoffed. "He's still guarding Tooth Palace. I know because I checked there first."  
   
Draco's cheeks chilled blue. "You—Just—Give me my memories that you took and go aw—aaaghhhh!"  
   
Not letting him finish, the Fearlings pulled Draco over the edge, talons curling into his shoulders and yanking, beating their black wings to knock away his totem before flipping him toward the water. The wind hurried to follow but the monsters were quick to tug him into the shadows, not allowing it to blow him from their grasp. They spun him through the shadows and then deposited him at Harry's feet, placing the retrieved totem in Harry's hands.  
   
Hand flying to his mouth, Draco managed to gurgle, "Ughh, stop doing that…"  
   
"It can be a little disorienting," Harry conceded, crouching so that they were eye level with each other. He held Draco's staff over his shoulder with one hand and retrieved the memory box with the other, waving it to get the winter spirit's attention. "We have a discussion to continue, you and I."  
   
Draco eyed the memory box, then his totem, and then the Fearlings that hovered behind Harry, clearly debating whether or not he could successfully obtain his possessions before the shadows beasts could harm him. After a tense moment, Harry waiting patiently, his shoulders slumped and he sat back in the snow. "What do you want to talk about?"  
   
"Good boy, Snowflake," Harry teased, tempted to pat him on the head, but settled for smiling when he scowled at the nickname. The Fearlings chittered, amused. "Now then, what do I want to talk about?" He let the smile drop, affecting an air of seriousness as he tucked the memory box back in his pocket. "Well, you've been freezing the hearts of humans, particularly children, for starters."  
   
Draco looked away and, while he had certainly improved at concealing his emotions like a true spirit should, Harry could still taste his bitter sorrow. "Don't bother asking why. You wouldn't understand."  
   
"I don't need to ask why," Harry said, pausing briefly before, " _because_  I understand."  
   
"You don't understand anything!" Draco shouted, glaring venomously, ice starting to form crystal wings—  
   
Harry was upon him before his anger could fuel his magic any further, shoving him into the snow, holding him there by pushing down on his chest. In a panic, Draco attempted to reach his staff, his need to protect himself apparently outweighing the danger the Fearlings posed, but they shrieked and retaliated by wrapping around his wrists, his fingers just barely grazing the iced wood before he was yanked back, hands pinned beside his head. He fought against the shadowed binding, trembling under their hold, but then looked at Harry with terror when he realized he couldn't escape.  
   
"You know, you keep underestimating me," Harry told him, voice low but calm. "Your magic is unusual and a pain to deal with, I'll give you that, but I have lived a  _lot_  longer than you." He leaned in, their noses almost touching. "Perhaps you should show some respect."  
   
Draco swallowed nervously, choking on the anxiety that increased the more the Fearlings drank at his fright, but he managed to croak, "You  _don't_  understand."  
   
"No?" Harry queried in a disbelieving tone. " _I_  don't know what it's like to be cast out? To be alone? To long for…" He hesitated, feeling a tug at his core that nothing to do with losing believers. "To long for a  _family_." He sat back, easing the pressure on Draco's sternum but not calling off the Fearlings just yet. "Trust me. I'm one of the few, if not the  _only_  one, who understands."  
   
"Then why are you fighting me?" Draco asked desperately.  
   
"Humans  _need_  to feel," Harry explained, tapping lightly above Draco's heart. "If humans don't  _feel_ , then they don't  _fear_ , and this lot," he gestured to the flocking Fearlings, "gets pretty noisy when hungry. They get  _dangerous_ , more so than you could ever hope to be."  
   
Draco glanced apprehensively at the Fearlings wrapped around his wrists and they stared back at him with their empty eye sockets, cooing sweetly in mock affection. He swallowed again. "I never wanted to be…" His eyes squeezed shut. "At least you have  _them_. For so long, it's just been…  _me_."  
   
Harry almost replied that Fearlings were hardly great company, but there was truth to the winter spirits words.  _Something_  was better than  _nothing_.  
   
"I have spent thousands of years in the shadows," Harry murmured, "and I thought," he paused, remembering that night in Japan, and then scoffed, shaking his head. "I thought no one else will  _ever_  know what this feels like."  
   
He lightly brushed his fingertips over Draco's temple, touching the snow white hair, and the winter spirit's eyes quickly opened, regarding him warily.  
   
"But now I see I was wrong," he finished softly. He leaned over the trapped spirit. "We don't have to be alone, Draco."  
   
For a long moment, Draco just stared at him, confusion, desperation, and doubt warring behind his eyes. The Fearlings shifted, easing their grip and settling around him comfortingly, encouraging in their soft hoots rather than the pressuring and intimidating as they had done at Tooth Palace, and Harry half-smiled at their approval of the mayhem-causing spirit. They liked the cold and they liked causing trouble; it was only natural they'd like Draco.  
   
Seeing that distrust was winning the winter spirit's internal battle, Harry leaned even closer, whispering, "What goes together better… than cold and dark?"  
   
It was the winter spirit's turn to shiver.  
   
"And then you'll help me? If it's the two of us?" Draco asked tentatively. "You'll help me freeze everyone?"  
   
The Fearlings were already singing their agreement, nuzzling happily against Draco, not seeming to notice how he flinched from their shadowy touches, but Harry jerked back and frowned.  
   
"No, Draco," he said sternly, putting pressure on the Fearlings, ceasing their smitten behavior. "I meant that you need to stop all this. It's unnecessary and it's ruining the natural balance of things. And then we can talk eternity."  
   
"I thought as much." The sneer on Draco's face indicated that Harry had walked into his trap, his fear weakening under his rising anger. "You don't want to be with me. No one does. You're just trying to fool me."  
   
Harry shook his head, expression earnest. "That's not it. I—"  
   
"Wind!"  
   
The wind howled in response to its friend's call and a powerful blast slammed into Harry, the loose snow it slung sharp and biting. Harry shouted in surprise, arm lifting to block against the assault, but then the world suddenly dropped from beneath him and he was falling into a crevice that had opened in the deep snow. Draco, it seemed, still had a few tricks up his sleeve and had carefully cracked open the bottom layers of ice beneath all the snow, letting Harry fall toward the water below while the ice whisked the staff from Harry's grip.  
   
While clever, the attack only served to anger Harry. The ice began to close around him, Draco perhaps hoping to encase and trap him before he took a plunge into the ocean, but it was night and the moon was high—there were shadows. In the barest flicker of movement, Harry was on top of the ice shelf again, the Fearlings clinging to him and shrieking. Their black wings, bedraggled from the sudden fall, whipped in the still gusting wind, ice and snow caught in the flurry.  
   
" _Wind!_ " Harry roared, pouring every ounce of his fury into the call, his anger inviting the Fearlings to fully mantle, their primary and secondary shadows stretching wide and high, a great black beast that rose behind him.  
   
In a heartbeat, the wind ceased it's raging, cutting back to nothing more than a gentle breeze, meekly brushing against Harry as if apologising. A gasp had Harry slanting his gaze to the left. Draco stared at the sky, betrayal etched into his features.  
   
"The wind may favour you," Harry told him, glaring, voice a low roll, "but you are  _not_  its master."  
   
"You would take my only friend from me," Draco accused, clinging to his rescued totem.  
   
"I made you an offer for more." Harry did not call back the chattering Fearlings, but his expression softened. "That still stands."  
   
Draco scowled. "And that's not what I want. Now," he held the staff up threateningly, "for the last time, leave me alone!"  
   
Harry regarded Draco with a frown. He wanted to argue more, try to convince the resentful spirit that he meant every word, but a tug at his core reminded him that he was fast losing believers. It wouldn't be hard for him to frighten more into existence, but the Guardians would suffer in the meantime. They were already plenty angry with him and he still owed them a grand favour, perhaps more than one now that he'd mucked things up. With a sigh, he realised couldn't dwell in Antarctica for much longer.  
   
"Very well. You want to be left alone? Done. But first…" Harry retrieved the memory box still in his possession, noticing the way Draco straightened at the sight of it. He held out a hand. "The staff, Draco."  
   
The winter spirit startled, totem being yanked from the defensive pose and hugged tight. "What?"  
   
"I'm not going to let this world freeze, and you have a bad habit of interfering," Harry explained. He waved the memory box to draw Draco's attention to it again. "Now hand it over, and I'll give you your memories."  
   
Draco's grip tightened even further on his totem, but he eyed the memory box with yearning. It was cruel to keep from him what, by all rights, was his to begin with, but Harry couldn't let him continue his war on humanity. At the same time, Harry wanted to avoid hurting him any further.  
   
"No," Draco breathed, a chill deepening in the air with each passing second. " _No_. That's mine and you'll give it to me anyway!"  
   
He lunged, the crook of the staff driven into the snow and then lifted sharply to fling the powder at Harry's face. The Fearlings easily batted it away, the simple fluff nothing against their solidified shadows, but in the next instant, Draco was sending a wave of his special, lightning-like ice and Harry had to counter using the nightmare-sand.  
   
The two magicks collided between them, erupting and merging together as frozen black ice, glistening with sand grains. The creation was huge, its black spikes stabbing at the heavens, and the marvel of the perfectly blended magicks had Harry momentarily off his guard. He only looked away from it in time to see Draco casting another wave.  
   
In a second of pure reflex, Harry was through the shadow cast by the giant statue and stepping out directly beside Draco, hand covered in shadowed black sand coming down in a swift and powerful slice to the center of wooden totem.  
   
The sound of it breaking in two was oddly quiet.  
   
Draco's choking gasp of agony was not.  
   
Realising what he had done, Harry watched with horror as the winter spirit staggered back, one trembling hand clenched in the wind-woven cloth over his chest and the other weakly losing its grasp on the bottom part of the totem, the top crook resting at Harry's feet. Draco, pained and shocked, stumbled and fell backwards into the snow.  
   
"No," Harry whispered, feeling Draco's spiritual presence begin to drastically disappear. After a hesitant jerk, he plunged toward the gasping winter spirit, dropping to his knees, noting that each breath appeared to be a struggle, white hands scrabbling at a cold chest, shaking uncontrollably. "No—I didn't—"  
   
Draco stared up at him, eyes wide and fearful, the distress intensifying as the Fearlings settled around them.  
   
"Go away," he begged, voice unsteady. "Leave—" He cut off with a whimper, gulping for more air.  
   
"I'm  _sorry_ ," Harry stressed, flapping a hand to shoo away the curious Fearlings. "I didn't mean for this…"  
   
"Haven't you done enough?" Draco demanded hoarsely, struggling to push up on one elbow, the action instead causing him to roll onto his side with a cry. "Just leave me alone!  _Leave me alone!_ "  
   
Harry watched him fight to move in the snow, the sudden loss of his magical connection with the totem clearly making him weak and dizzied. The Fearlings were oddly quiet, an occasional inquisitive cheep leaving their shadows. It was strange that they did not seem to relish the spirit's pain, but Harry supposed that was due to their fondness for him. Whether that fondness derived from their love of the cold or from Harry's suppressed desire for a companion was uncertain.  
   
"You say you want to be alone," Harry sighed, flicking a hand at a Fearling to retrieve the dropped memory box. He placed it carefully in front of Draco, noticing the way the winter spirit's eyes locked on it longingly. "So be alone."  
   
Harry stood, forming the cloud of nightmare-sand. He still had a world to save and, without the totem, Draco was of little threat. Harry winced guiltily, but it was time to leave.  
   
He saw Draco tentatively touch the golden edge of the memory box and added, "But when you decide that it's too hard, too lonely, come find me."  
   
And with that, Harry left the emotionally injured spirit to consider his past  _and_  his future.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_Nowhere_  
   
Harry's footsteps made no sound in the caverns of shadows, the darkness moving, shifting,  _alive_  around him, solid and yet not at all. Here the Fearlings were free to stray far from his side and they did so immediately, feebly fluttering away to wherever they hid when he had no need of them, their trails of shadows almost indistinguishable from the void that was  _home_ , his and theirs. It was a far cry from the bright stars that he'd once lived amongst, but time had moved so far since then that he no longer mourned the loss of the light.  
   
There was but one reason he had decided to return and its curved face rose out of the darkness, rusted metal creaking as it slowly turned on its axis. He'd been halfway across the ocean when he felt an overwhelming drop in his believers. It was distracting, that growing hollowness at his core, but more than that it weakened him. He'd almost toppled right off of the nightmare-sand, the Fearlings feeling the echoing lack of power and warbling their worries, urging him to find a solution. So he'd decided to come home, to check on it: his globe.  
   
It shared only the most basic geographical similarities to the one at the North Pole; the differences were plenty. For starters, it did not represent those who believed in the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus or any happy do-gooders that inspired positive emotions. Instead it pinpointed all those who  _feared_   _the_   _Boogeyman_. The lights that twinkled upon it were not so much lights as they were holes in the black, empty dots that appeared and disappeared with fear, a cold burn giving the dots a shine against the rest of the darkness.  
   
But there was nothing shining now.  
   
Harry stared at the globe, stunned.  
   
_This_  was the damage done by a lone elemental spirit.  
   
"Sheesh," Harry muttered, and from the darkness a few Fearlings flew to him, nuzzling and cooing their concern. He stroked their feathered shadows in absentminded comfort, contemplating his next move. "He must've had other wolves on the move. I never expected them to do so much so soon. We'll have to go scaring."  
   
It would be hard to find a human not already cold in demeanor, and Harry doubted their belief would last long enough for him to reinforce it, but it would at least give him a temporary boost. The Fearlings twittered approvingly, but even their excitement was mild in comparison to but a few hours prior, dampened by their lacking strength—or rather, by  _his_  decrease in power, but they could not move in the world without their host and so considered his weakening as a part of them. It was self-serving, of course, but sort of endearing, Harry to admit. Maybe, after thousands of years, the monsters had grown to like him.  
   
A Fearling abruptly trilled and launched from Harry's shoulder, flapping to the globe and settling in the northern hemisphere. It trilled again and Harry quickly moved to its side, eyes widening as he saw what it saw.  
   
A single light.  
   
The  _last_  light.  
   
Someone out there still believed, and that belief had power.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_England_  
   
A young human, perhaps no more than a decade of age, sat cross-legged on his bed, a toy rabbit before him on the starship blanket. The word "Teddy" was spelled in block letters above the bed and Harry could only assume that was the boy's name. He watched from the shadowed corner of the bedroom, Fearlings held in check to avoid frightening the child. He couldn't help but smile as the boy began to earnestly appeal to his stuffed animal.  
   
"Okay look, Easter wasn't so great this year. You and I are obviously at what they call a crossroads…"  
   
The Fearlings huffed and shuffled about, not understanding what Harry found so charming about the scene before them. He was quick to shush them when the little boy paused and listened, the child's belief allowing him to hear their faint complaints, but when no more odd noises were made, he again faced the rabbit.  
   
"So here's what's going to happen," the boy, Teddy, continued, hands paralleling in a stern gesture, "If you're real, then you have to prove it." A pause. "Like right now."  
   
The stuffed rabbit, of course, did not respond.  
   
Desperation crept into Teddy's words. "I've believed in you for a long time, okay? Like my whole life in fact. So you kinda owe me now." Still not receiving a response, the boy picked up the toy and held it close. "You don't have to do much, just a little sign so I know. Anything." A beat. "Anything at all."  
   
He waited, but there was nothing.  
   
"I knew it," he mumbled, dropping the rabbit and not bothering to try and catch it when it rolled off the bed to the floor.  
   
Now the Fearlings were pleased, sighing contentedly as the child's hope crumbled, his disbelief setting in. Harry could feel the flickering at his core that indicated this child was about to be lost, not to a cold heart but simply to a lack of belief.  
   
Not knowing how to keep Teddy believing without scaring him, Harry hurriedly looked around the room for something that could be used as a sign. He could move things, but he'd either have to leave the shadows and reveal his monstrous form or he could push the items with solidified shadows, which would likely only worry the child into thinking he roomed with ghosts. Harry's only other talent lay in manipulating the shape of shadows and that—  
   
That could work.  
   
Thumping a few Fearlings on the head, Harry urged them into the bedroom's natural shadows, sharing his idea with them through the touch. They hooted obstinately, making Teddy gasp and tense where he still sat on the bed, his fear spiking, but one sharp look from Harry quieted their grumbling and they grudgingly did as asked.  
   
Afraid now, Teddy slowly turned with an audible swallow, clearly uncertain about what he would find lurking in his bedroom but surprisingly willing to face it. However, in the next moment his eyes went huge with amazement and, gasping, he spun to watch the spectacle happening on his wall.  
   
Shadows shaped like rabbits and eggs hopped and danced all along the bedroom wall, a merry scene that the Fearlings discreetly gagged at having to create and endure, especially when it made the boy laugh with joy rather than scream in terror.  
   
"He  _is_  real!" the child cried, and his belief in all things, good and bad, connected as they were, bloomed powerfully at Harry's core. Pleased, Harry encouraged the Fearlings to leave the wall and they did so easily, shadowed rabbits and eggs flying through the air to move around the boy in a skipping circle. The boy laughed again and clapped excitedly. "Whoa!"  
   
Feeling the strength of the boy's belief reach a new level, rising to be stronger than he had experienced in a long time, Harry began the second part of his plan and eased the nightmare-sand into existence, molding it into shapes of Spring to match the shadows. He carefully replaced the shadowed Fearlings until only glittering black sand surrounded the child, and then slowly moved the sand close enough for Teddy to touch.  
   
_Please work…_  
   
The boy happily reached for the nearest rabbit—  
   
A bright light seemed to explode from the tip of his finger as soon as it touched the sand, the black speedily receding, replaced by dazzling gold. The whole room lit up blindingly, so much so that Harry, the squawking Fearlings, and even Teddy had to shield their eyes from the sudden brightness. Harry felt a tugging on his hands as the sand was pulled from him and he let it go freely, knowing it was returning to its proper form, to its proper owner.  
   
And with a flash that had the Fearlings scattering, there she was, floating amongst her swirling golden sand, sleepy eyes fluttering open as if she were waking from an easy nap, the sand morphing around her into the shapes of her passing dreams, none other than Her Nocturnal Magnificence, High Protector of Sleep and Dreams, Sandman the First—  
   
_Luna_.  
   
"Whoa," Teddy breathed, and never had a child had wider eyes than the brown ones currently reflecting Luna's glow. He remained quiet as Luna glanced about the bedroom in mild confusion, but startled when her gaze fell to him, her smile kind as he stared at her in wonder. "You, a-are you—the  _Sandman?_ "  
   
Luna nodded, hands cupping together, sand dancing through shapes in her palms.  
   
"But you're a  _girl_ ," Teddy said with the thoughtlessness of a child, too awed by the changing images. "Was it you who made the shadow puppets?"  
   
Luna's eyes slanted to the corner where Harry stood. Abruptly realizing that he was now exposed with her radiance lighting up the bedroom, he quickly dove under Teddy's bed before he could be seen, squeezing in beside the Fearlings, the whole lot of them peeking from under the edge. A pinch of fear touched the air and Harry winced; he had not been fast enough.  
   
"W-Was that the, the… Boogeyman?" Teddy whispered to Luna.  
   
The sound of shifting sand, accentuated with little flashes of light as Luna shaped her magic, was all Harry could hear but he knew nothing she could relay would ease the child's worries. He was just about to drop through the shadows, ready to leave the nurturing of the last light to her, when the exact opposite of what he thought happened: Teddy's fear disappeared.  
   
"Really? Him and the Easter Bunny?" the boy asked in surprise.  
   
"What are you telling him?" Harry grumbled, and he was heard for there was another spike of quick fear as he spoke, but then the blankets were lifted from the sides and Teddy was suddenly staring at him, upside down.  
   
The boy's eyes widened, stunned, as they found Harry in the bed's shadow but he did not retreat. "Wow! It really  _is_  the Boogeyman!" His nose scrunched. "You're not  _that_  scary."  
   
The Fearlings chattered at the insult but Teddy was no longer afraid enough to see or hear them and so their complaint was useless. Teddy stared at Harry speculatively with his strong eye, as if trying to figure out why he'd ever feared the Nightmare King to begin with, making Harry's mouth twitch into a smile.  
   
"No," he couldn't help but agree, "I'm not."  
   
"Why d'you like being under beds so much?" Teddy asked, and he was starting to get a little red in the face from hanging.  
   
"Oh, it's not that I like it," Harry explained slowly, somewhat amazed that a child was speaking to him rather than screaming at him, "but it's really dark under here."  
   
"You like the dark then?"  
   
"Well…" Harry thought for a moment, and then decided that bringing up the Fearlings was probably not a good idea. "Yeah, I like the dark."  
   
Teddy blinked. "You can't be in the light at all?"  
   
The child's words seemed to appeal to Luna, for in the next moment her shine dimmed, concentrating to a warm glow around her body rather than filling all corners and crevices, making the environment a little more pleasant to Harry and the Fearlings. Teddy moved to one side of the bed and looked at Harry expectantly, as if he had made room for Harry to exit. Amused by this, Harry decided not to slide from under the bed as Teddy clearly thought he'd have to and instead melded into the shadows under the bed, slipping through them and stepping out of the darkness that was Teddy's bedroom closet.  
   
Teddy jerked up, eyes as wide as before, and again there was a small shot of fear but it was quickly smothered by enthusiasm.  
   
"Cool!" he exclaimed, bouncing excitedly on the bed.  
   
"Well this is a first," Harry said of the reaction, glancing at Luna. Her responding smile was a bit too smug.  
   
"Teddy?" an adult voice suddenly called from outside the room. "Is that you making all that noise? Go to sleep."  
   
"But it's the Boogeyman, Grandma!" Teddy shouted back, and usually the words were said with considerably less delight, but it didn't matter because Harry could easily feel the strength of the blaze that was this child's belief. "It's the Boogeyman and he's not scary at all!"  
   
"That's nice dear. Go to sleep."  
   
"I'm a little scary," Harry argued playfully, and, putting on a sneer, he held up his hands, letting the shadows make them look like claws. "See?"  
   
Teddy only laughed, clapping his hands, before remembering that he was supposed to be quiet so as to not be scolded again. The Fearlings were appalled by the cheery response, almost as much as they were disgusted by Harry's entertainment, but he ignored their trilling.  
   
"So are you two friends?" Teddy asked with interest. He pointed unintentionally rudely at Luna but grinned at Harry. "She said that there's this, this sad spirit who's making everyone mean, and that, that the Easter Bunny was hurt because of it! And that's why there weren't any eggs this year and why he didn't come here, but that you, you're friends with the Easter Bunny! So you helped him out when I was worried!" He snapped to Luna to confirm. "Right?"  
   
Luna smiled and nodded while Harry scoffed.  
   
"Yeah, we're the  _best_  of friends," he muttered. Louder he asked, "You got all that from a few shapes, huh?"  
   
Teddy nodded enthusiastically. "The Sandman is  _amazing_  at charades!"  
   
"That she is," Harry chuckled, but a sudden taste of apprehension and Teddy's sudden frown had him concerned. "What's wrong?"  
   
"Is… Is the Easter Bunny going to be okay?" Teddy asked timidly.  
   
Harry and Luna shared a look and she made it clear she wanted him to take point on this. With a sigh, he kneeled before the bed, looking up at the boy rather than the opposite, pulling forth every memory he had of speaking kindly to children rather than frightening them. "That depends on you, Teddy."  
   
The boy blinked. "On  _me?_ "  
   
"You  _believe_  in us and that makes us real," Harry continued, not bothering to mention that, technically, he'd still exist, perhaps less powerfully, even without believers, that it was only the Guardians that were truly in danger of disappearing, but it was probably better if the child didn't know that. He looked at Teddy very seriously. "You give us strength. You make us who we are."  
   
"I really do that?" the boy whispered, looking between Harry and Luna with awe.  
   
Harry nodded. "That's right. Without you, we're nothing."  
   
"Wow," Teddy breathed.  
   
"Yep."  
   
Luna's dream-sand shifted, making them look at her, and shapes flashed rapidly over her head. As usual, Harry could not understand the changing pictures, but the boy easily read the speech of dreams.  
   
"You need my help to stop the sad spirit and save everyone?" he asked aloud, and Luna smiled, nodding. He frowned and drew back a little, worried. "But what if I'm not strong enough? What if I'm not brave enough?"  
   
Luna's flashed more shapes.  
   
Teddy shook his head frantically. "But I'm  _not!_ " He glanced nervously at Harry, and there was a tickle of his fear returning. "The Boogeyman's not that scary, but…"  
   
"But you're still afraid of me?" Harry asked kindly, even though he could already taste the child's growing anxiety. Still, he waited for Teddy's hesitant nod before continuing. "Teddy, have you ever heard the saying, the only thing you have to fear is fear itself?"  
   
Another small nod.  
   
"Well, I  _am_  fear itself," Harry said, grinning when Teddy looked at him in surprise, "and that's why you'll  _always_  be a little afraid of me, but you don't need to worry because I'm on your side."  
   
"R-Really?"  
   
"One hundred percent," Harry confirmed. He got to his feet. "And it's because I'm on your side that you can be brave."  
   
"Because then the bad guys will be more afraid than me?" Teddy asked hopefully.  
   
Harry chuckled softly and shook his head. "No, because you can't be brave unless you're afraid."  
   
All of the child's fear vanished in the face of his confusion. His nose scrunched. "But that doesn't make any sense!"  
   
"Of course it does!" Harry laughed. "Being brave means understanding the danger, understanding  _why_  you're afraid, but facing that fear anyway. Do you understand?"  
   
"I guess so," Teddy answered, though it was clear he was doubtful, but he brightened up easily enough in the next second. "But you're on my side and that's what matters!"  
   
"Sure," Harry conceded, deciding that pursuing the subject would only confuse the little human even further.  
   
Before any other questions could be asked, the faint sound of sleigh bells rang above them. Teddy gasped, evidently knowing  _exactly_  what that meant, and he leaped from his bed, passing Luna to press his face against his bedroom window, eyes glued to the sky. Harry and Luna joined him at the window, both following the boy's excited gaze just in time to see Krum's reindeer emerging from a snow globe portal, the connected sleigh following soon thereafter.  
   
"It's Santa Claus," the boy breathed, and there was so much wonder and excitement in the exhalation that Harry thought the child might begin shaking from containing it all, but then the happy feelings were quickly replaced by worry. "What's happening? What's wrong?"  
   
Again Harry glanced at the sky. To his surprise, deer and sleigh wobbled unsteadily, choppily dropping great distances in short intervals instead of gliding through a normal descent. The reindeer appeared to be having difficulty keeping the whole thing afloat and within seconds they crashed to the street, the sleigh slamming down after them. The oak sled fishtailed as the reindeer stumbled across the slippery concrete, the sleigh's runners cutting grooves into the edges of lawns, until the hitch finally snapped and separated. Freed from the weight of the sleigh, the cloven-footed creatures launched into the sky, too startled to be concerned about what they were leaving behind.  
   
The sleigh slid to a stop only a few feet from Teddy's yard and the boy looked anxiously to Harry. "Is Santa okay? What happened? Why is he here?"  
   
"Remember what we just talked about? Like the Easter Bunny, Santa has been affected by the, ah, sad spirit," Harry explained, feeling a strange urge to place a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. He carefully did so, using his touch to ease the child's worry.  
   
"Oh nooo," Teddy breathed, though his anxiety did lessen. "Why isn't anyone helping him?"  
   
"Only those who believe can see and hear us, so no one but you knows," Harry answered, giving a nod to Luna as he stepped back from the window and placed one foot in the dark beneath the bed. "Don't worry, I'll make sure they're all right."  
   
With that, he slipped into the shadows, hearing Teddy's exclamation of, "Awesome!" as he was tugged smoothly down into them. He reappeared from the bare shadows outside the home, glancing back at the window to see Teddy's face again pressed against it, the boy grinning at him. Harry smiled back, and the Fearlings groused about his friendliness with the human.  
   
A clatter from the sleigh had his attention and a moment later Krum stumbled out, using one of his sabers as leaning support.  
   
"Is official," he said to no one in particular. "My powers are kaput."  
   
Lockhart, too, appeared from the sleigh, lighting up and trying to fly over the edge when he saw Harry but only managing to fall to the ground.  
   
"Harry-boy!" he exclaimed, undeterred. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to!"  
   
"As I foretold, Nightmare King," Krum growled, not sharing the Tooth Fairy's excitement at Harry's presence, "you've not done much in way of helping."  
   
"I've done a little," Harry said, turning and looking at the two standing at the window.  
   
"It's Luna!" Lockhart cried, stumbling forward even more at the sight of Luna waving to them. Even Krum's disposition softened as he nodded to her in greeting.  
   
Teddy appeared to be fighting with the window latch but he eventually pushed it open, almost frantic in his rush. "Are you  _really_  Santa Claus?" he asked Krum, looking doubtful.  
   
"The last light," Krum murmured, taken aback, staring at Teddy in astonishment. Then he shook himself and, to Harry's utter shock, smiled cheerfully at the young human. "Indeed I am."  
   
"But you're not  _fat_."  
   
"I am when full of cookies and milk," Krum chuckled, and Harry couldn't help but gape at him, for never before had he seen the man wear anything other than a stern scowl.  
   
"Oh, okay," Teddy said, easily swayed. He pointed at Lockhart. "And you're the Tooth Fairy, even though you're a dude, huh?"  
   
"Well, of-of course!" Lockhart answered, straightening proudly, but seemed unsure how he was expected to respond. When Teddy's gaze swept away from him, he whispered loudly to Harry, "What does that mean?"  
   
"I think it means you should be a  _girl_ ," Harry whispered back.  
   
"Where's the Easter Bunny?" Teddy asked over Lockhart's squawked, " _What!_ "  
   
Harry looked around, not seeing a sign of the normally easily spotted, oversized lagomorph. "Yeah, where is the furball?"  
   
"Losing Easter took its toll on all of us," Krum said slowly, discreetly glancing at the sleigh. "The rabbit most of all."  
   
As if on cue, a small creature hopped onto the edge of the sleigh, tiny nose twitching and little ears alert.  
   
Teddy burst into giggles. "That—  _That's_ the Easter Bunny?"  
   
Harry and the Fearlings were similarly amused.  
   
"Look how fluffy you are!" he laughed, morphing the shadows so that the ones in the sleigh rose up to rub at Dudley's little cottontail. "Would you like a scratch behind the ears?"  
   
Dudley squeaked and jumped away from the petting shadows, bouncing safely to Krum's shoulder. He bared his tiny front teeth at Harry, pointing one tiny paw and snapping, "Don't you even think about it!"  
   
"He's so cute!" Teddy cooed from the window, leaning out far enough that Luna's sand had to gently tug him back in so he wouldn't fall.  
   
" _Now_  somebody sees me. Where were you an hour ago?" Dudley groaned, then he glared at Harry again. "Did you tell him to say that? That's it!" He leaped from Krum's shoulder, covering the ground in four long hops and thumping Harry with his back legs, the scratches getting no higher than Harry's shins. "Let's go! Me and you! Come on!"  
   
"No!" Teddy shouted, and now he practically dangled from the sand as it strove to keep him from tumbling to the bushes below. "He told me that you were real just when I started to think that maybe you weren't."  
   
Dudley ceased his tiny attack and sat back on his haunches, dumbfounded. "He made you believe? In  _me?_ "  
   
"Yep!" Teddy cheered. The sound of his bedroom door opening cut off anything else he might have added, the sand pulling him inside just as the bedroom light flicked on.  
   
"Teddy!" called the same adult voice as before, tone a mix of surprise and anger. "What are you doing? Close that window and get in bed!"  
   
"Aww, but Grandma! It's Santa Claus, he's here!" Teddy protested, but a moment later an older woman was at his side, pushing the window closed and shuffling the young believer back to bed, her scolding audible if muffled.  
   
"Oh no!" Lockhart whispered, though it was unnecessary for him to do so. "Our last light!"  
   
"Not to worry," Krum said calmly. He gently placed a hand on his chest. "His belief is strong, even stronger than before."  
   
"Renewed belief is always stronger," Harry agreed, also charmed by the flare.  
   
The bedroom light was flicked off, followed shortly thereafter by a small flash of Luna's magic, and then the Dreamweaver herself was slipping through the closed window, moving through the glass panes easily as only a spirit could. She touched down beside Harry, greeting her fellow Guardians with a mild smile, as though she hadn't been released from Harry's darkness a mere half-hour earlier. In contrast, both Lockhart and Dudley looked on the verge of happy tears. Krum had returned to his stoicism.  
   
"Giving him happy dreams, I imagine?" Harry asked of Teddy, hoping to change the subject before the fairy or rabbit could start wailing and distract from the task at hand.  
   
Luna nodded, eyes closing and smile dreamy, appearing like she was about to doze off herself. She paid no mind to Lockhart when he lunged forward and hugged her with a sniffle.  
   
Dudley hopped to Krum's shoulder, rubbing at his face with both paws before asking, "We're not just going to leave him here, are we? I mean, shouldn't we take him with us, to make sure he's safe?"  
   
"Take him with us?" Harry scoffed, earning a renewed glare from the rabbit. "A  _human_  child? Are you mad? What are we going to do with him? Slide him through the streets on a trash can lid while we fight those wolves? That's what you call safe?"  
   
"It was just a—"  
   
"The wolves are gone," Lockhart interrupted, lifting his head off Luna's shoulder but still hugging her close. At Harry's surprised and questioning look, he explained, "They just up and disappeared about a half hour ago. The ones that were chasing us, at least."  
   
"Ah, I see." In all likelihood, the wind and ice wolves had vanished the instant Harry had—accidentally—snapped Draco's totem. He closed his eyes with a sigh, guilt welling inside him as the Fearlings clucked their reprimands.  
   
"When the boy wakes tomorrow, this will all be nothing more than a good dream," Krum said then, noticing Harry's internal dilemma but respectfully declining to probe for answers. "But for now, his belief is firm, asleep or no. While we are stronger, we should go to Tooth Palace—"  
   
"The memories!" Lockhart cheered, finally letting go of the Dreamweaver only to latch onto the Santa Claus, almost knocking off the Easter Bunny as he did. "If the wolves are gone, then the ice will be, too! And we can restore everyone's hearts and return to our glory!"  
   
"Yes, that is what I was going to suggest," Krum said gruffly, mouth pinching as Lockhart tightly hugged both him and Dudley. Harry had a feeling the word "glory" would not have been a part of his proposal.  
   
"Then let's stop yacking and start moving," Dudley huffed, squeezing free of Lockhart's grasp. He thumped a hind leg on Krum's shoulder impatiently. "What're you waiting for?"  
   
Krum scowled, also elbowing free of the Tooth Fairy, and produced a snow globe from his red overcoat. He threw it a bit more forcefully than necessary, intentionally making the rabbit on his shoulder squeak and scramble to keep from falling, and shouted, "Tooth Palace!"  
   
As with before, the globe exploded into a swirl of colours as the portal opened. Again, Lockhart was the first one through, eager to have his home back. Dudley leaped from Krum's shoulder to follow, no doubt tired of his diminutive body and impatient to gain his larger, stronger form back. Luna stepped calmly after them, but not before sending off waves of sand to give good dreams to the rest of the town, smiling sunnily as she did, still seemingly unaffected by her stint locked within Harry's darkness.  
   
Harry, however, hesitated. Draco was alone and powerless in Antarctica, having lost even his wolves, and Harry was partly to blame for that. Draco had made several wrong choices, but Harry could empathise with his reasoning.  
   
"Potter!" Krum barked. "Are you coming or not?"  
   
"Yeah," Harry sighed, pushing away the idea of returning instead to Antarctica and leaving Tooth Palace to the Guardians. He gathered the Fearlings, preparing them for the jerking sensation that accompanied Krum's favoured method of traveling. "Yeah, I'm coming."  
   
First things first. Maybe, once the whole mess was finally over, he and the little snowflake could finish their heart-to-heart.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_Southeast Asia, Tooth Palace_  
   
_Something is wrong_.  
   
Harry stared apprehensively at the mountain that was Tooth Palace, the Fearlings rustling, equally unsettled. Without Draco's magic to support it, the ice should have begun to thaw. Harry had half expected to find the entire island flooded upon arrival, and yet there was no indication that so much as a chip of ice had melted. The entire Palace was still under layers of blue, fog around it where cold air met hot.  
   
"I don't understand," Lockhart whined softly, flightless wings drooping sadly behind him. "Why is it still frozen?"  
   
"It's not completely frozen. Look!" Dudley said, paw flapping at the hole that was the entrance. Nothing could be seen beyond the opening aside from more blue ice being swallowed into darkness. The Guardians exchanged nervous glances, and Harry rolled his eyes.  
   
"Well, shall we?" he prompted, taking a leading step.  
   
As if cued, a low growl reverberated out of the opening. The five of them instantly stilled, listening, but the growl was only followed briefly by the faint sound of cracking ice and then silence.  
   
Sand shifted over Luna's head into the shapes of a large wolf and a question mark.  
   
Harry nodded. "Yeah, sounds like Fenrir has yet to vacate the premises."  
   
"But all of the other wolves are gone!" Dudley protested. "Why is  _he_  still here?"  
   
The blue ice had extended into the jungle near where they stood. Harry walked over and crouched beside it, gently running a finger over the hard cold. The Fearlings, too, reached out with their shadows, nipping at the ice and cooing. Like the first time they had encountered it, they seemed to want to absorb the ice, smoothing themselves over it and becoming frustrated when they could not break through.  
   
"This ice has emotion in it," Harry recalled aloud, thoughtful. "A  _lot_  of emotion." He looked back at the Guardians. "Creatures of element are sometimes born from intense feelings."  
   
"The winter spirit's anger and loneliness?" Krum asked, but it was more a statement than a question.  
   
"Yeah, so I bet he didn't  _make_  Fenrir, not intentionally. It probably just happened," Harry said, standing and looking toward the entrance. He could see it in his mind, Draco standing alone in the cold, could taste on his tongue those thick, drowning emotions, and he just knew that it was truth. "That's why Fenrir is bigger than the others, stronger, and why he hasn't disappeared. He has sentience, and this is  _his_  ice."  
   
"Then what do we do? How do we save my fairies?" Lockhart asked in a small voice, and his one remaining fairy nuzzled against his neck, spreading its arms to hug its leader.  
   
"Well if we're going to restore the memories, and if you want your home back, we'll have to go in there."  
   
"Go  _in_  there?" Lockhart inched behind Krum. "Um, you guys go ahead. I-I don't like the cold. I'll wait here."  
   
"It's  _your_  palace, Gilderoy," Krum said, stern but not snappish.  
   
Lockhart pouted.  
   
"I can go," Harry offered, the Tooth Fairy brightening immediately at the suggestion. Seeing that Krum, however, was about to object, he added, "I can stay in the shadows, see where he is and if we can get the fairies back."  
   
Krum stared at him for a long moment, expressionless, and then yielded with a short nod.  
   
"Ooh, but be careful, Harry-boy," Lockhart advised, though he looked pleased that it wasn't him venturing into the ice cavern that was Tooth Palace.  
   
Luna stepped forward, conjuring a large sphere of dream-sand and floating it to Harry.  
   
"Luna… that's…" Harry hedged, but she shook her head adamantly and released the stardust from her magic, making Harry either have to catch it with his own or let it fall and merge with the crust of the Earth; he caught it. Darkness swiftly overtook the gold, changing the allowance of dream-sand back into nightmare-sand.  
   
"She is right," Krum said approvingly, "If he attacks, combined magic will be needed."  
   
"Yeah, all right," Harry sighed, but didn't allow the sand magic to warm his palms like before, instead making it swirl around his feet in a tiny cloud. The Fearlings ruffled and hissed at it, remembering well the discomfort it had caused them. He hushed them, then nodded to the Guardians and moved toward the jungle's darker shadows. He was just about to slip through them to the inside of the Palace when—  
   
"Potter, wait!"  
   
Harry turned just as the miniature Easter Bunny skid to a stop at his feet. "Er, yeah?"  
   
Dudley leaned back on his hind legs to look up at Harry, eyes wide and oddly apologetic and looking so adorable that it disconcerted the Fearlings. He even placed his two front paws on the toe of Harry's boot, shuddering at the cold fear that the touch gave him but not moving away.  
   
"When we were here before, you said, well…" Dudley trailed off uncertainly, unable to put voice to the words in his head.  
   
Harry politely crouched down so that they were more eye level. "I said, what?"  
   
"Well… I just want you to know…" Dudley hesitated and Harry gestured for him to continue, trying not to smile at the rabbit's embarrassment. "The thing is, I don't… I don't think you're a waste of space."  
   
Harry blinked at the little Guardian of Hope, completely taken aback. If he hadn't seen Dudley's lips move, he might not have believed it. Even the Fearlings were shocked into silence—for a few seconds at least, and then they began squawking, horrified that such sentiment was being bestowed upon their host. Harry ignored them.  
   
"Well, er, thanks, Dudley," he said.  
   
The rabbit's eyes watered, and then in a flash he had hugged Harry's leg and dashed off before the Fearlings could do anything more than shriek. The jungle grew loud with their unhappy chattering, the beasts noisy as they wound down Harry to examine where Dudley had hugged, as if assessing damage, cawing out threats to the Guardians, and clucking and pecking at Harry for allowing another spirit to touch him without their approval. They spread as far into the trees as he would permit, hooting warnings to any nearby creatures.  
   
"Yeah, yeah, relax. I'm still yours," Harry said mildly, and brushed them out of his face as he turned back to the jungle's shadows.  
   
"Be careful, Nightmare King," Krum called. He appeared unbothered by the Fearlings' threats but kept his distance.  
   
Harry waved him off and, with the Fearlings finally quieting, stepped into the dark void.  
   
He emerged in a crevice within Tooth Palace, the drop in temperature both instant and soothing. It was dark in the Palace, little light making it past the ice, but that suited Harry just fine. He gathered several of the Fearlings and released them amongst the ice, letting them fan out silently and scope the place for the oversized monster that was Fenrir.  
   
As he waited, he examined the ice around him, pushing against it with the nightmare-sand. When nothing happened, he pressed a little harder, careful not to make too much noise, and at last the blue gave way to black, the sand penetrating where shadows alone could not. It would take some doing, but the blackened stardust could remove the ice that encased Tooth Palace.  
   
The first Fearlings flew back to him then, bringing with them information about Lockhart's fairies. The tiny creatures were as flightless as their creator and half frozen to death in their cage. Even if they were freed, they'd have to be carried to the memory boxes and several memories would need to be restored before they would have the strength to fly again. It was not a task Harry could undertake while Fenrir still roamed.  
   
He waited impatiently for the other Fearlings to return, taking the time to run through possibilities of distracting Fenrir while the Guardians worked on the memories, but minutes passed and still his little shadows beasts had not returned. Frustrated, he reached through his control and yanked at them, ordering them back to his side.  
   
A roar tore through the cavern, followed by the trilling of the Fearlings as they hurried back to Harry. Their thoughts became his when they landed, and he realized that the damned things had been poking inquisitively at the sleeping creature, that his call to them had resounded into it through their touches and woken it from its slumber. Harry scowled at the curious little brats and leaped backwards into the shadows just as a wave of ice filled the crevice.  
   
He hurriedly emerged in the jungle, almost immediately overwhelmed by the humid heat yet focused on relaying the situation the Guardians before Fenrir thought to leave the cavern. However, he was brought up short when he saw the four great spirits. Standing with them—or rather, backing away, totem miraculously intact and held defensively—was none other than—  
   
"Draco!"  
   
The Guardians and winter spirit all halted at Harry's call, heads swinging his direction.  
   
"Harry!" Lockhart said, surprised, worriedly continuing, "We were so worried!  _He_  showed up, and then there was that howl!"  
   
Harry hurried over to them, scanning Draco from head to toe curiously, lingering on the restored staff. "I'm fine. It didn't get me. It was just the Fearlings doing, you know, what they do."  
   
"I will ask again," Krum said, seeming to not hear Harry, his glare staying on Draco, " _why_  are you here?"  
   
Draco glanced uncertainly at Harry, also eyeing him up and down, but his expression hardened as he turned back to Krum. "I already told you. I'm only here to get Fenrir."  
   
"And my palace?" Lockhart asked, tone hopeful.  
   
"It'll unfreeze if Fenrir leaves."  
   
Lockhart sighed in relief, but Harry cut in before he could become too happy, "I don't think it will be that easy."  
   
"What do you mean?" Dudley asked from his perch on Luna's shoulder.  
   
"You can't control him anymore, can you?" Harry asked Draco, facing him.  
   
The winter spirit's cheeks went blue and he scowled. "That's—I just haven't—"  
   
" _Draco_ ," Harry warned.  
   
For a moment, the winter spirit warred with himself, clearly wanting to maintain his denial, but then he deflated, expression pained and guilty.  
   
"Not for a while, no," he admitted. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, momentarily distracted by the warm earth beneath him and a second later a gentle breath of wind had lifted him a few inches off the ground. He hovered there, not really looking at any of them as he said, "I… This isn't what I meant to happen. He wasn't supposed to…"  
   
"Well it  _did_  happen," Krum growled, "and you must take responsibility."  
   
Draco's guilt changed to anger in a snap and he glared. "Why do you think I'm here?"  
   
"Okay, okay, that's enough," Harry said, stepping between the two and holding up his hands, inwardly amused that  _he_ , the Boogeyman, was the one playing mediator. A few Fearlings were quick to hop down his arm toward Draco, clinging to his fingertips and stretching as close to the winter spirit as they could, the black amorphous cloud that made up the rest of them cooing invitingly.  
   
Draco blinked at the dark creatures, both curious and hesitant after their previous encounters. Like before, he hugged his staff to his chest when the Fearlings sucked in the cold that radiated from his bluish skin, struggling with each other to get closer to him. He had just cautiously lifted a hand to touch one when, like a worried mother hen, the wind snatched him up again and tugged him out of their reach, sending a chastising gust at Harry. With an amused snort, Harry shook his hand until the Fearlings were forced to release his fingers and reluctantly rejoin the rest.  
   
A chilling howl, long and eerie, came from the cave's entrance, so loud that small pieces of ice shifted and broke loose.  
   
"Oh, right," Harry said as the Guardians all startled and backed away. "So, that howl before? I accidentally woke him up and now he knows we're here."  
   
" _Harry_ ," Lockhart started reprovingly, "In the future, you might say such things from the start, hm?"  
   
Another howl interrupted whatever Harry may have said in response, this one much shorter and deepening into a growl. More noises like the cracking of ice echoed along with it and a breath later the large beast itself was exiting the Palace, wind-made fur moving and ice fangs bared under the snarl of a lip.  
   
"Oh dear," Lockhart breathed.  
   
"We ready for this?" Harry asked, feeling a thrill as he called the Fearlings, mixing them with the sand and shadows to form his dark scythe; it had been a long time since he'd had a good fight. Not receiving an answer, he glanced back, only to see Lockhart shuffling away, the small and useless Dudley having been deposited into his hands, and that Krum could barely lift his sabers. Only Luna appeared ready, her dream-sand glowing gold and warming to such a degree that Draco flinched away from her. The winter spirit himself still looked highly indecisive.  
   
Harry sighed and held out a hand for a Fearling to materialise, also mixing it with the black sand.  
   
"Here," he said, handing the grumbling shadow to Krum, who jumped a little when the jolt of fear shot through him as he took the beast. "This guy should be able to get through the ice. Lockhart's fairies are trapped in a cage inside the Palace. If you can get them out and get to the memory boxes—"  
   
"Understood." Krum gestured to the approaching wolf. "Keep him busy?"  
   
"Sure."  
   
Fenrir lunged. In a quick crack of light, Luna had wrapped her whips around her fellow Guardians and pulled them onto her cloud of dream-sand, zooming away to the cavern of ice. Harry drew back just as swiftly, using the shadows to tug him to safety, leaving only Draco to stand before the wolf. The ice that spread from the great beast's paws was of no concern to the winter spirit, so he had made no attempt to escape, but Fenrir did not ignore Draco as expected. Instead, the wolf snarled at his once master and continued to advance with hostility.  
   
"Hey, hey, we're on the same side, remember?" Draco said, backing away.  
   
Harry moved out of the shadows, swinging his scythe in a wide strike and barely missing Fenrir when the wolf leaped to avoid the attack, shadows merely catching the tips of winded fur.  
   
"Hurry up and pick a side," he snapped at Draco, moving to chase after Fenrir.  
   
The wolf was heading to the frozen mountain, toward its territory, but Harry yanked shadows from every nook and cranny in front of it, letting the Fearlings bring them to life as eerie hands and monsters. He knew Fenrir could easily break through the shadows but he hoped it would have the effect of startling the beast into changing directions. When it did not appear deterred, the Fearlings rose up higher, mantling their primary shadows and kicking up a racket up of spooky shrieks and whistles. The intimidation worked and the wolf turned sharply, escaping instead into the trees.  
   
For a second, Harry didn't think it would make much difference where Fenrir went, for everything the wolf touched turned to ice. Yet unlike the inside of the mountain, the jungle was not protected from the glare of the sun, the trees and ground heated so much that even the magical blue ice began to glisten and melt. Seeming to realise this at the same time as Harry, Fenrir again turned, intending to cut back to the mountain.  
   
Harry was in the shadows and out again faster than Fenrir could run, rising from the darkness before it and placing himself between it and the mountain. Angered, Fenrir dove at him, intending to break past, but the nightmare-sand that glinted in the scythe held fast against the blue ice. Bits of frost crumbled from the wolf's form where the scythe landed and Fenrir howled in frustration, taking several more steps back to avoid the strikes. Confident now, Harry advanced, driving it further into the jungle, further into the darkness under the trees' canopy.  
   
Fearlings stretched from the shadows, tugging at any part of Fenrir they could touch. They could do little harm but they proved a useful distraction as Harry stalked forward. He raised the scythe high, moving all of the nightmare-sand into the blade, intending to slice it through the core of emotions—anger, resentment, hurt—that made up Fenrir. The Fearlings cheered him on, eager to drink the powerful emotions once the core was split open.  
   
Then, to Harry's surprise, Fenrir stopped biting at the little shadows creatures that taunted it and instead suddenly lowered its head and braced, entire body stiffening. It began to glow an ethereal blue, the forest floor icing thickly beneath its feet, ice hardening the wind fur in short spikes.  
   
Harry barely had time to think,  _Ah, not good_ , and then Fenrir opened its jaw and released a blast of ice so powerful that it froze the trees through, instantly killing the wood and any other living thing that got caught in the cold. It was the same attack that had swallowed Tooth Palace, the ice spreading wide and high, infused with deep emotion and powerful magic. It would take hours, if not days, for it to melt as long as Fenrir existed.  
   
The Fearlings dropped Harry out of the shadows on the other side of Fenrir, having clung to him and yanked him to safety. The abrupt retreat had thrown him, making him lose his grasp on melding the nightmare-sand with shadows, scattering the grains from the scythe. He could not allow Fenrir to make the same attack again or the entire island would freeze. The wolf turned to face him, frost snowing from its mouth, and its huge body tensed once more, the vibrating blue that had dimmed after the blast beginning to glow again.  
   
Harry reshaped the scythe but quickly ducked into the shadows. While helpful, the allotment of sand Luna had loaned him would not be enough to counter Fenrir's magic. The emotions were simply too deep, and he was starting to think they weren't Draco's alone. The smaller wolves had frozen the hearts of many humans. It was likely those emotions stolen from millions had empowered Fenrir.  
   
_What are they doing?_  Harry wondered of the Guardians. He hadn't thought the ice covering the memory boxes would be so difficult to breach. He'd felt merely a tickle of believers return, certainly not enough to restore their power and help him fight the big bad wolf.  
   
As if also considering the other beings, Fenrir took off toward the mountain, not bothering with trying to draw Harry from the shadows. Frustrated, Harry went after it, flickering through shadows speedily until they were even. He swung the scythe low, catching iced paws and tugging so that the beast tripped and flipped over.  
   
Roaring in agitation, Fenrir got to its feet and rounded on Harry, tensing, the blue energy it had already accrued not yet dissipated. Harry pulled back into the shadows, expecting Fenrir to make another run for the mountain, but instead the wolf unleashed its cold on the trees again, turning as it did so that it froze the circling area.  
   
It had done little harm to Harry—even frozen the trees blocked portions of the sun and made shadows for him to use—but it widened Fenrir's territory, making it easier for the wolf to retaliate.  
   
And retaliate it did, for if Harry so much as stepped on the ice, the wolf was upon him. Like Harry did with the Fearlings, Fenrir spread its wind into the ice, allowing it to detect Harry's position in an instant. It largely ignored the swooping Fearlings, fully aware of what little they could do, their feathered shadows but a mild annoyance. With any other enemy, Harry might have twirled it through the shadows to confuse it, as he had with Draco, but the darkness he traveled was an emotional void. He didn't want to take the risk of Fenrir gaining from the emptiness rather than succumbing to it.  
   
_There has to be something_ , Harry huffed, irritation increasing.  
   
Waving a hand at the Fearlings, he gathered them in the shadows and melded a bit of his presence to them, telling them to exit opposite of where he stood. They did as commanded and as soon as they touched the ice, shaped into his shadowy silhouette, Fenrir whirled to attack them, leaving its back open. With his main presence suppressed, Harry quickly but silently left the shadows, lifting his scythe high and bringing it down in a cruel swing—  
   
Only to have the beast abruptly turn and snap its jaws closed on the blade. Harry stared at Fenrir in shock, unable to yank free his weapon, the wolf tugging back with equal force. Fenrir growled, the low rumble sounding as though the creature were laughing at him, and as it began to glow blue, the nightmare-sand trapped in its mouth already beginning to freeze over, Harry realised that it was he who had been tricked.  
   
Knowing he had lost it, Harry withdrew the Fearlings from the scythe before they too could be frozen, letting the shadows dispel as the nightmare-sand was turned to a block of black ice, effectively neutralising his method of attack. The only way to defeat the ice and wind wolf now was to weaken it by restoring the humans' memories and, as such, their hearts.  
   
Also aware of this, Fenrir passed Harry now that he had no means of harming it, and instead sprinted toward Tooth Palace's entrance. Harry ducked into the shadows, stepping straight into the Palace to warn the Guardians, his speedier method of traveling buying them a little time.  
   
He popped out of the shadows directly next to Lockhart. "Hey! Fen—"  
   
"Gyah!" Lockhart yelped, bumping into Krum as he jumped in surprise, arms full of his mini-fairies. He and his little followers all sighed dramatically when they saw it was only Harry. "Goodness. We all know you're the Boogeyman, Harry. No need to go proving it."  
   
"Fenrir got past me," Harry continued, ignoring the Guardian of Memories. He agitatedly surveyed what little progress the Guardians had made with removing the blue ice. "What's taking so long?"  
   
"Your little shadow is what!" Krum barked, scowling at the squawking Fearling Harry had sent with them. "It keeps getting distracted by the emotions in the ice!"  
   
The Fearling cooed then and it rubbed against the ice, its brethren doing the same behind Harry. He thumped it on the head, glaring heatedly at it when it trilled a complaint, feeling shamed that it was his own creature holding up the progress.  
   
A howl sounded from outside the mountain, close but not yet inside, and it was not a warning sound, rather one of surprise and pain. It grew quieter, as if Fenrir were moving away from the cave instead of toward it.  
   
Harry thumped the Fearling on its head again, pointing a stern finger at it.  
   
"Get to work," he ordered, and then slid back into the shadows to find Fenrir and the cause of its pain.  
   
He reemerged outside of Tooth Palace just in time to see Fenrir release one of its powerful waves of magic at the sky. To his surprise, the blast was met with the lightning ice of Draco's totem. He followed the lightning to the source, squinting hard against the bright flashes of magic, and indeed saw the winter spirit, high above the earth and fending off the attack. To see him was both relieving and worrying. The sky had darkened a little around him, clouds forming where he stood on the wind, but Harry knew he wouldn't last much longer. The tropics were no place for a winter spirit, especially not one putting forth so much effort.  
   
"Draco!"  
   
The other spirit glanced down at the call and even from a distance Harry could tell he was breathing hard. Harry motioned to where they could meet, receiving a nod of understanding, and as Fenrir unleashed another blast, Draco dropped out of the sky to the trees below, Harry darting through shadows to meet him.  
   
Up close, the winter spirit looked like he was melting, dripping with sweat and skin bluer than normal from exertion, every breath a puff of visible cold air.  
   
"It's hot here," Draco groaned by way of greeting. "Why does he stay?"  
   
"Because the memories are here," Harry said. It was a struggle to hold back the Fearlings from swarming the winter spirit. "Can you do anything to him besides stop his attacks?"  
   
Draco wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, the ends of his hair wet and curled. "I've been taking the cold from him. It's my magic that made him, but he moves too quickly for me to get little more than a breath each time."  
   
"Would it help if you could stay behind him?"  
   
"Yes, but I can't…" He paused and looked curiously at Harry. "Are you going to distract him?"  
   
"Eh, something like that," Harry said, grinning. "I can help you, but it's going to involve your least favourite thing when it comes to me."  
   
Draco looked confused for all of a second and then moaned in understanding, and in the next moment, Harry had grabbed him with the shadows.  
   
After Draco had disappeared from the sky, Fenrir had resumed its lope to Tooth Palace. Harry caught up to the beast right at the entrance, sending Fearlings ahead to startle it into stopping long enough for him to get behind it. Once there, he released Draco from the shadows and then reformed his scythe, moving to help the Fearlings in their show, expecting the winter spirit would need a moment to orient himself before he could siphon more of Fenrir's energy.  
   
Luckily, Draco gained his balance faster than usual, due to either Harry's gentler handling or from becoming accustomed to shadow travel. He was quick to jab the crook of his totem at Fenrir, wrenching such a large portion of his magic back from the distracted wolf that it howled in surprise and distress. At the same time as losing such a great amount of its core, an enormous sheet of its ice broke in half and then collapsed from a wall, exposing rows of memory boxes.  
   
Instantly in reaction to the fallen ice, the buzz of many wings vibrated through the Palace, thousands of freed fairies flocking to the memories, the Guardians and Harry's Fearling having tediously regained enough believers to restore their flight. Belief flared in Harry's core as tiny hands alighted on the memory boxes, the fairies releasing the memories, both good and bad, to thaw human hearts, allowing the beings to  _feel_. With the belief, power returned to Harry's shadows, and he grinned while the Fearlings trilled gleefully. Darkness would always exist, guaranteeing Harry and the shadow monsters the same fate, but fear gave them strength.  
   
Fenrir roared furiously, conversely weakening, its power lying in the stolen emotions. As more humans were revived, parts of the beast chipped off like cracked ice, the fur's wind dissipating until the wolf's size appeared to shrink. Ice sheets were breaking from the memory boxes at a rapid pace, shattering and crumbling, the noise loud like breaking glass.  
   
Realising it could not afford to lose any more human hearts, Fenrir snarled at Harry, preparing to break past him and attack the fairies. Before it could, a shrieking Fearling suddenly launched at it, black talons easily dispersing the wind fur and managing to scratch the ice. The formerly useless shadows were growing as a threat, making it clear that, in a short time, Fenrir would not be able to defend against solidified shadows at all. Harry spun his scythe once and then held it at the ready, posture daring the wolf to pass.  
   
For a moment, he thought it was going to try, but then Fenrir hastily jumped back, putting distance between them, and whirled instead to face Draco. The winter spirit leaned against the side of the Palace's entrance, eyes closed in concentration and hands tight around his glowing totem. The large sum of magic he had retrieved from his creation must have proved too much at once, requiring him to focus on stabilising it or be overwhelmed, leaving him open to attack.  
   
Fenrir took the opportunity and lunged. Harry hurriedly ordered the Fearlings after Draco but found they were already darting through the shadows even without the command. Spiking shadows appeared around Draco like ribs, ready to bring him into their fold, just as Fenrir jaw opened not a foot from the spirit's chest—  
   
And then both missed as the wind got to the spirit first, yanking him into the sky with a startled shout, flipping him head over heels.  
   
Harry huffed a relieved breath, but quickly learned it was too early to relax. Fenrir had not lost its agility and was as quick as before to change directions, turning and leaping into the sky after Draco, using its own wind magic to lift itself. The Fearlings clawed after it, their shadows reaching high and fast, almost catching it, but they cawed in distress as they fell short by the barest inch. Without the nightmare-sand, Harry and his monsters were unable to pursue as the battle moved to the sky, leaving them to watch anxiously from the ground as Fenrir loped after Draco.  
   
The winter spirit was having difficulty staying upright on the wind, the frost magic he'd been unable to completely stabilise beginning to affect the atmosphere. Blue skies turned grey and ominous, the sparse fluffy white clouds growing dark and large as moisture sped to form them, reacting to the sudden chill that resulted from the erratic magic.  
   
"Harry!" a voice called, and suddenly the Guardians were there, joining Harry in watching the budding thunderstorm. High above them, Fenrir's howl was like thunder as it dove toward Draco, pushing the spirit backwards into the grey clouds, both disappearing from view.  
   
"Luna!" Harry spun to the Guardian of Dreams. "Your stardust, I need it! Please!"  
   
Luna nodded worriedly, conjuring another globe of golden sand, larger than the one she'd already loaned, but before Harry could poison it with his shadows, a deafening boom of real thunder cracked through the sky, white streams of frost scattering through the clouds like a spider web of lightning.  
   
Then there was silence.  
   
Hastily, Harry poured darkness into the sand, forcing it under his command and speeding off the ground before it'd even completely turned black. Luna followed after him, helping him and the fanning Fearlings search the clouds for Draco or Fenrir, not knowing who had won. Yet the sky remained quiet and the dark fog began to dissipate under the hot shine of the sun, the unnatural storm appearing to pass.  
   
"Where—?" Harry muttered huffily, the Fearlings echoing his frustration.  
   
Glinting gold caught his eye as Luna waved her arms to gain his attention. A small portion of her sand formed an arrow and swirled to point in a specific direction. Harry's hope quickly died when he saw that it was only a vapour trail she had found. It extended far into the distance, disappearing into the blue horizon of the Pacific Ocean. Harry ran his fingers through the moisture, feeling the dissipating trace of Draco's magic; the spirit had either made a hasty retreat or had been flung by the aftershock of his last spell. Perhaps a little of both.  
   
Harry gathered the sand and shadows and prepared to follow the trail before it could disappear. If Fenrir had won, if Draco was injured—  
   
Luna unexpectedly leaned into his line of sight, stopping him with a smile that seemed to say,  _I'm sure he's fine_. To confirm the notion, she gestured to Tooth Palace below them. From the sky, Harry could see that the last of Fenrir's ice had fallen from the mountain, tropical air again breezing through the beehive without the cold blocking all of the openings. It appeared the only damage the Palace would sustain was wet floors, but given the usual level of humidity and that Lockhart and his fairies rarely stopped flying long enough to walk anywhere, it was doubtful this would be a problem.  
   
With a sigh, Harry conceded Luna's point with a nod. Fenrir had definitely lost, and Draco was a spirit—it was unlikely he'd been harmed by his own magic enough to warrant an immediate rescue.  
   
The two of them lowered back to the Palace's main entrance where the other Guardians waited. As soon as his feet touched the wet earth, Harry gathered all of the borrowed sand, having to wait a moment as the previously frozen bit from the jungle made its way to him, and then held it out for Luna to take. She looked at him questioningly, non-verbally asking if he wanted to keep it.  
   
"Nah," he said, pulling his touch away as hers alighted upon it. "The Fearlings don't really care for it."  
   
The shadows beasts clucked their concurrence, looking at the sand contemptuously.  
   
"Ah, that's not all of it, by the way," Harry told her, suddenly remembering. "There's some in Antarctica that's frozen by Draco's magic. It—er, things happened."  
   
Luna smiled knowingly and nodded her understanding.  
   
"Ooh, Harry!" Lockhart cheered then, flying forward to give him an unexpected and unwelcome hug, only jerking back in time to avoid the shrieking Fearlings because Krum thought to grab him. His feathers were back to shining their rainbow of colours, a few small bald patches the only hint that anything had been amiss. Despite this, the smile never left his face and he beamed proudly at Harry before lifting off and loop-the-looping through the air.  
   
"Look at me go!" he laughed, coming to rest on one of his hanging towers, sliding in the water that dripped from it and almost falling over the edge. He caught himself and then spun into a pose, pretending as though the slip-up had been intentional. The fairies swooned when he smiled his twinkling smile. "Well done, Harry, my boy!"  
   
Reading Harry's cues, the Fearlings darted through the shadows and poked at Lockhart from under the tower's edge.  
   
"For the last time," Harry said flatly, "I'm older than you."  
   
His good mood unaffected by the brush with darkness, Lockhart only laughed again and pushed off to fly around the rest of his home, casually examining the memory boxes as he went, his admiring fairies flocking after him.  
   
"Gilderoy is correct," Krum said, the weakness gone from his straight back and proud stance. "You have helped us." He tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Well done."  
   
"Sorry about the snowflake. I know you liked him," Dudley said, hopping forward, now full-sized, complete with boxing gloves and all. It seemed he had indeed changed his opinion about Harry, for there was nothing mocking in his tone or expression, simply genuine concern. It was bizarre coming from him and it unsettled the Fearlings.  
   
"It's not that I liked him," Harry said slowly—a quick denial would be too telling. "He and I… In some ways, we have a lot in common."  
   
"You planning to go and find him?"  
   
"I— well, I'm sure I'll run into him again eventually," Harry said, pretending to dismiss the idea when in reality he wanted nothing more than to scour the world until he found the winter spirit.  
   
"You should go now, if you want," Dudley said with a shrug, peculiarly seeming to understand what Harry wasn't saying, but Krum was of a different opinion, shaking his head with a warning look.  
   
"Do not involve with such spirits, Potter," he advised. "That one has done wrong and must atone on his own."  
   
"No," Harry disagreed, "Dudley is right. I should go." He smiled apologetically at Krum. "I can't just leave him. Not again."  
   
"Again?" Dudley asked, his confusion shared by the other two Guardians, a sandy question mark popping over Luna, but Harry only shook his head and summoned shadows for distant travel.  
   
"If you're all okay here, then I'll be going," he said, pulling close the Fearlings.  
   
"Wait! You can't leave!" Lockhart shouted from across the Palace, zooming toward them. "You haven't been made a Guardian yet!"  
   
"That's right!" Dudley gasped, furry fist slapping into the opposite paw palm. "It's not official! We have to make it official!"  
   
Harry couldn't help but laugh, declining the offer with a wave. "Thank you, it's an honour, really, but I am not a Guardian."  
   
"But you are, Harry-boy! You even saved the last light! You made him  _believe!_ "  
   
"Again, thanks, but no," Harry chuckled, and let the shadows begin to fold around him.  
   
"You  _are_  a Guardian! You're the Guardian of—"  
   
He was already gone.

 

 

 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   
_England_  
   
Like the North American town, the location of Draco's death had changed in the last three hundred years, human expansion also overcoming trees and grass with buildings and concrete. It seemed the short-lived beings preferred their creations over those of the Mother. The somber village had become much busier as time passed, not quite as full as some parts of the world but certainly more so than before its industrial days.  
   
Yet, however different, however the size and layout and population had grown and changed, it seemed the obvious place to search and Harry chastised himself for not thinking of it right away. He'd unwisely already made stops in Antarctica and then Japan before realizing that, while  _he_  associated those locations with Draco, the winter spirit was more likely seek out areas personal to his own experiences—and what could be more personal than the place where one had lived and died?  
   
The first thing Harry noticed upon arriving was that the pond was gone, long since filled in and built over. It was a human subdivision now, neat little repetitive rows of similar houses, tiny yards on some, no yards at all on others, and not a single original tree within twenty miles.  
   
Harry frowned as he slipped through the shadows between the homes. His gut feeling told him that Draco was here, in this town, but perhaps not at the exact spot in which he'd died. Problem being, Harry didn't know where Draco had lived  _before_  dying. He tethered the Fearlings and then sent them into the shadows to scour the town for any indication that the winter spirit had recently passed through, glancing briefly at the snow-weighted clouds above.  
   
Winter had yet to fully pass. Draco's antics had likely caused all sorts of weather phenomenon that baffled the humans and made them wonder when a steady spring and summer would arrive. With the weather still cold, snow continued to pile in less traveled areas; Harry let the unoccupied Fearlings play in it while he waited for the others to return.  
   
Then he felt it.  
   
Sudden but mild, the air moved against him, the touch smooth and deliberate, and Harry tensed with a sharp breath. This was not the wind, and though it was gentle, it held no kindness. Cruelty, compassion—such things no longer had meaning to  _that_  entity. She simply  _existed_.  
   
Calling to the Fearlings to rejoin him, Harry took off after the touch, staying above the shadows so as to not lose it. If he accidentally passed through a few loitering humans, sending shudders down their spines, then it couldn't be helped. He approached a park nestled amongst the buildings, manmade but still beautiful in its own artfully designed way and blanketed in a thin layer of snow. Just as he reached the park's perimeter, the touch left him as abrupt as it had come.  
   
Slowing to a stop, he felt a wave of disappointment. It had been so long since they last met; he would have liked to have seen her.  
   
The Fearlings he'd sent into the town caught up to him and, with a sigh, he moved to resume his original search, assuming the almost-encounter had been mere coincidence—same time, same place.  
   
Then, unexpectedly, the air again brushed him. He startled, thinking it was  _her_  resumed touch, but then disappointedly realised that, this time, it indeed was the wind. It lightly wrapped around him once, twice, and then blew carefully in one direction, encouraging him to follow. When he did not immediately follow, it gusted loose snow into the air, sending the soft ice into Harry's face and shadows. Harry smiled then, understanding what it was trying to tell him.  
   
He let the wind guide him, trailing the gentle breeze to a small patch of trees at the center of the park, knowing exactly what, or rather who, he would find there. He looked around the trees, briefly confused when he saw no one, but then he felt the tickle of another's presence and, chuckling at his own foolishness, his gaze lifted to the trees.  
   
"Why are you here?" Draco asked warily, sitting upon the second lowest branch of a particularly well-iced tree, looking worn and tired, with his staff resting on his lap. "I'm not going to freeze anyone. I…" He sneered defensively. "You don't have to follow me around."  
   
"I  _know_ ," Harry scoffed, irritated by the attitude that greeted him when he'd been worriedly looking for the spirit, but he paused, took a deep breath, and then tried again. "I mean, I only wanted to see if you were all right. After what happened with Fenrir."  
   
Draco stared for a long moment, distrust evident in his expression, but eventually he muttered, "I'm fine," though his cheeks went bluer than normal and he was quick to look in the opposite direction, apparently unsure how to accept concern for his wellbeing.  
   
Harry shook his head with a smile but didn't press his concern, instead leaning against the nearest tree trunk to wait out the winter spirit, having to reign in the Fearlings when they excitedly tried to fly to Draco's side, keen to have him in their shadows once more. They warbled in protest, stretching their darkness longingly toward Draco, but they couldn't get far without Harry's consent and, knowing this, they pleaded with him like hatchlings. He met their begging with a reproving look before ignoring them entirely and, frustrated, they huffed and settled for rolling in the snow at his feet, flapping the ice between their feathered shadows and letting it cool and soothe where the warm sand had rubbed raw, busying themselves until they were allowed what they wanted.  
   
Their antics caught Draco's attention and he first watched them with a slanted gaze, maintaining an air of disinterest, but then his curiosity had him unconsciously facing them for a better view. When he realized what he was doing, and that Harry watching him in turn, waiting for him to speak, he again blushed and looked away.  
   
"I wish you'd go away," he said.  
   
"No you don't," Harry countered mildly, and he received an annoyed glare for it. They were quiet for a long while before the winter spirit decided to speak.  
   
"She… spoke to me, you know, even though— Even though I'm not exactly her child," Draco said, and there was a challenge in his tone like he expected Harry to insult him.  
   
"That makes sense," was instead Harry's response. "I felt her, here, so I thought she might have wanted to talk to you."  
   
"I didn't get in trouble, if that's what you're implying," Draco snapped.  
   
"That's not what I meant."  
   
Scoffing lightly, Draco straightened and studied Harry speculatively, merely lifting his chin when Harry arched an inquisitive brow.  
   
"She said you were her son," the winter spirit said then, and his haughty expression changed to one of suspicious bafflement. "You're  _not_  an elemental. Shadows aren't elements."  
   
"Ah, that." Harry crossed one leg over the other, doing the same with his arms, getting comfortable as he prepared to answer the questions hidden in the statements. "You're right, they're not, but that's not what she meant. I…  _was_  her son, once, a long time ago."  
   
Draco stared doubtfully at him. "That doesn't make sense. You don't just  _stop_  being someone's child."  
   
Harry chuckled but there was no real humor in it, and he tilted his head back against the tree with a sigh, solemn as he stared at the grey sky.  
   
"I made a mistake, a  _terrible_  mistake, far worse than yours." He looked at Draco again, expecting some form of retaliation, words or frost, for the comment, but found that the winter spirit was only curious for him to continue. "That mistake caused her a great deal of despair. She fell to this planet and became its maiden." Harry looked at a hand then, at the gray of shadows that covered it. "Our beings were both changed. Neither of us are what we once were."  
   
"Fell… to this planet?" Draco questioned, apparently caught on that one part and suddenly looking nervous. "Are you…" He turned a doubtful eye on Harry. "You're not saying you're an  _alien_  or something… are you?"  
   
Harry barked out a laugh, not having expected the question. He smirked at Draco. "Yeah, I guess you could say that, in a way, but my kind, or rather, the kind I once was… We existed amongst all the stars, all creations. Nothing in the universe was not home to us so nothing was  _alien_  to us."  
   
"Then where are all the others now?"  
   
Harry sobered quickly, amusement vanishing. "There's only one now."  
   
"Who?"  
   
"The Man in the Moon."  
   
Draco flinched at the mention, eyes darting to the sky briefly. "How can there only be one? What happened?"  
   
" _I_  happened," Harry said sadly, unfolding his arms to raise his hands, palms upward, summoning the shadows he commanded. The Fearlings cooed in response to the nonverbal call, nuzzling and nipping affectionately. Draco's eyes widened and Harry could feel his strike of fear like the thud of a heartbeat.  
   
"You…" he started, hesitated, and finished, "You've messed up a lot worse than I have, haven't you?"  
   
Harry released the shadows, letting them disperse while the Fearlings settled on his shoulders. "Yes, I certainly have."  
   
"And back in Antarctica, when you said that you understood—"  
   
"I meant it." Harry licked his lips, though for once it was simply out of habit rather than to taste for emotions—he didn't need to taste for what was so obvious in the winter spirit's expression.  
   
Sincerely, he said, "Draco, I'm sorry," and when the spirit looked at him in astonishment, he continued, "There were times long before now that I could have reached out to you and I never did. I assumed a lot, all of it incorrect. So, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to spend all these years alone."  
   
Draco's eyes saddened before he could duck his head and keep Harry from seeing. Quietly, he murmured, "That's the worst part, isn't it? Being alone," and then he flinched, his bare feet icing the branch even further as he drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.  
   
"I don't remember dying," he said. "My first memory is being on the ice, looking at the moon."  
   
Harry didn't respond but he remembered it as well, seeing the freshly hatched winter spirit standing at the center of that frozen pond, puzzled but happy.  
   
"But that's not my first memory, is it?" Draco continued, looking stricken, arms tightening around his knees. "That's not my first memory at all. I died. I  _died_."  
   
Using the shadows like one of Luna's whips, Harry pulled himself up to the branch, grabbing the one above to steady himself as he leaned over Draco. The winter spirit startled, but Harry only softly pressed two fingers to pale brow, easing the wrinkles there as he relieved the painful emotions. The Fearlings settled around them, cooing sweetly at Draco when he hesitantly pat their heads.  
   
"How are you doing that?" he asked, gently brushing away Harry's hand, staring in wonder at how his white skin contrasted against Harry's gray. "I thought your touch was supposed to cause fear, not take it away."  
   
"It can do either, depending on what I want," Harry said, smiling a little as the Fearlings nuzzled their way into Draco's lap, giving the staff clearance so as to not frighten him. More seriously, he went on, "Draco, if there's one thing I've learned in all my millennia of life it's that what's done is done. Remember the past, learn from your mistakes, but don't dwell."  
   
"Easy for you to say," Draco snapped, but the Fearlings eagerly took his sudden anger and he calmed almost immediately, returning to his hesitance. "It's just… You've had a long time. I  _just_  got my memories back. They're so fresh, like it all happened yesterday."  
   
"I know," Harry said, settling down on the branch so that his legs dangled over the edge, Draco's cold toes brushing against his thigh. "But you have to remember that it  _wasn't_  yesterday. It was three centuries ago."  
   
Draco sighed and leaned back against the trunk, releasing his knees and opening his arms for the Fearlings to climb into them. He curiously watched as they nipped at the snow around his collar, fluttering it amongst their shadows. "Why do they like me so much?"  
   
"Well," Harry laughed, "they like the cold and they like causing trouble."  
   
He reached over and pulled one back with an admonishing glare when it moved to nuzzle under the winter spirit's chin.    
   
"I don't really like my memories," Draco continued abruptly, taking the same Fearling from Harry and letting frost move from his fingers into its dark feathers; it shuddered delightedly. "You'd think I'd be accustomed to being alone. My father was a Lord and my mother… I think—I  _know_  they cared, but they never had much time for me."  
   
Harry nodded sagely. "Yeah, you seem like the type that requires a lot of attention."  
   
"Oh be silent," Draco sniffed, kicking him, nose tilting arrogantly in the air.  
   
Catching the foot as it retreated, Harry yanked just hard enough that Draco slid onto his back with an  _oomph_. Harry leaned over him, bracing on one arm, still holding the foot with the other hand.  
   
"I meant a lot of things in Antarctica," Harry said, firmly meeting the startled spirit's eyes. "We don't have to be alone."  
   
Draco stared at him for a long moment, searching gaze wary but also hopeful. Then his expression went suspicious and he said, "You know, I heard once that you had a thing for winter spirits."  
   
"Ah, um, well," Harry hedged, "You might say that, but that's… I wouldn't call it a  _thing_. I just tend to get along better with your sort."  
   
Draco's mouth pinched, his ire quick and obvious, though he made no attempt to get free of Harry's grasp. "They are not my sort." He looked away. "They don't accept me."  
   
"No," Harry said slowly, "and they never will." He tightened his grip when Draco glared at him, hurt. "But that's because you're  _not_  one of them. You're…  _similar_  to them, so it doesn't really matter what they think. You were put here for a different purpose."  
   
"And what purpose is that?" Draco demanded to know.  
   
Harry grinned. "You'll have to figure out that for yourself." The winter spirit scowled and, undeterred, he continued amusedly, "I seem to recall you putting a little innocent mischief in the world, using that strange magic of yours. Even started a snowball fight with some kids, I believe."  
   
Draco's eyes went wide, his cheeks bluing. "Wh-When? Where? You… You've been watching me?"  
   
Harry snorted. "I haven't been stalking you, if that's what you're thinking, but we've crossed paths before." He shrugged lightly as he added, "I don't generally show myself to other spirits unless necessary."  
   
"Well you should!"  
   
He laughed, waving off the ridiculous notion. "My  _point_ , Draco, is that you do something no other spirit does,  _especially_  not elementals. You directly interact with humans, with  _children_."  
   
"Isn't that what the precious  _Guardians_  do?" the winter spirit scoffed.  
   
"Eh, no, not really," Harry answered, taking a moment to consider how to explain. "They—well. Let's just say they're too busy doing things  _for_  children to do anything  _with_  children."  
   
" _You_  interact with children," Draco said, and it sounded like an accusation.  
   
"Not in a positive way," Harry replied softly, smile sad.  
   
"But they  _know_  you. They see you."  
   
Harry frowned at the envious tone. "I'd rather they didn't, and they don't always see me anyway. Children can believe in me without ever seeing me. To believe enough to see—that takes a really strong belief."  
   
Draco finally shifted like he wanted up, pushing Harry back by the shoulders, having to carefully maneuver around the Fearlings that clutched at them both.  
   
"But they  _do_  see you," he said, not retracting the leg that was across Harry's lap, either too distracted by his thoughts or not caring to do so.  
   
Making a frustrated noise, Harry shook his head. "It's not about being seen. It's about what we bring to them." He gave the harrumphing winter spirit a stern glare. "Hurting humans isn't going to make them believe in you. It only makes them want to  _not_  believe in you."  
   
Draco considered the words. "That's why no one wants to believe in the Boogeyman."  
   
"Precisely." Harry smiled, noticing how the shadows beasts clinging the most to Draco were beginning to have little frost patterns cut into their darkness. Then he continued, "There's a lot of darkness in this world, which is why I exist so easily. Dreams and hopes, wonder and memories, sometimes  _something_  else is needed." He grinned when Draco began to look curious. "Sometimes you need a little  _fun_."  
   
"And you think that's why the Man in the Moon put me here?" Draco asked, nervously hopeful. "To have a little fun?"  
   
"I think only you can determine what you're here for," Harry replied, then grinned. "But you seem to have a knack for mischief, so you may as well try it out."  
   
The winter spirit seemed to think it over, only startling from his thoughts when a Fearling began to nest in his hair. He flapped his hands at it, fingers moving through black, smoky air when it dissolved with a squawk to escape.  
   
"You know," he muttered when Harry laughed, "for the Nightmare King, you're pets aren't very scary."  
   
"They can be," Harry chuckled. "They like you."  
   
Draco was quiet again, and then confessed softly, "I don't want to be alone again."  
   
"Well," Harry said just as softly, " _I_  like you."  
   
And the snowflake's cheeks were blue once more, secretly amusing Harry with how shy the other spirit clearly was. Though he supposed three hundred years of virtual solitude would do that to a being. Feeling compulsive, he leaned slightly into Draco's space, gaining confidence when Draco didn't immediately pull away even though his eyes were anywhere but on Harry. Smiling, he leaned in further, wanting to learn how much like ice Draco tasted—  
   
The wind suddenly gusted against them, blowing them both off the branch. Draco, naturally, was caught by it and easily lifted, but Harry could not ride the air and fell straight to the ground, cushioned by only snow and shadows, his Fearlings shrieking as they were ripped from their comfortable position on the winter spirit's lap. The wind whistled shrilly in response, scolding, and spit loose snow at Harry and the shadows beasts, as much a hovering nanny to the winter spirit as it ever was.  
   
Above them, Draco laughed a truly entertained and pleased laugh. His laughter only subsided into hiccupped giggles when the Fearlings chattered in annoyance, the wind pulling him higher out of the reach of their longing shadows. He effortlessly caught his totem when the wind tossed it to him, having snagged it from the tree branch as well.  
   
"Nightmare King," he called, smirking when Harry had to stumble back a few steps to look up without straining his neck, "If you want me, you'll have to catch me first."  
   
Harry grinned wryly. "Are you sure you want to make that challenge? You can't stay in the sky  _all_  the time."  
   
Draco hummed, one hand held secretively behind his back. "We'll just have to see, won't we?"  
   
"I've already caught you several times as it is," Harry taunted, already carefully urging Fearlings into the shadows for a quick pursuit, "It's been pretty easy so far. If you think—"  
   
The snowball hit him in the face, and right on the nose so he should have seen it coming, but Draco had moved quickly and deceptively, the ball of soft ice he'd conjured in his hand flying through the air before Harry even realised what it was. Draco and the Fearlings both howled with laughter as he winced and spluttered, wiping the snow from his face.  
   
"Like I said, Nightmare King," the winter spirit mocked with a sharp smirk, "Catch me if you can!"  
   
And with that, he dashed away on the wind, flying through the sky with ease. The Fearlings darted after him without command from Harry, hooting and tweeting, excited and eager to grasp their new friend in their shadows once more.  
   
Brushing away the last of the snow, Harry grinned and began to follow, deciding that it was about time Draco learned his real name. 

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